UC-NRLF 


111 


HAGAR  LOT; 

: 


the    ute  «f  the    in  «WL 


BY    PIERCE    EOAIST, 

1UTHOR  OP  "THE   FILTER   OF   THE    FLOCK1','"  LOVE   ME,  LEAVE  ME   NOT1',  '  THI    WONDER  OF    KING* 

IOTOOD  CHASK",  '•  IMOGK^"    •'  TKE  SCAKLET  FLOWEE",  ETC.,  ETCt 


K  K  W-Y  O  IS  K 

'DICK    &   FITZO 

NO.  18  ANN  STREET, 


ALUMNUS 


700 


. 


HAGAR  LOT; 


0 


THE   FATE   OE   THE   POOR   GIRL, 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  A  strange,  wild  tale  of  sin  and  sorrow — 
Sorrow  because  of  sin — hence  sorrow  comes — 
And  throbs  ef  heated  brains,  and  pangs  of  hearts, 
And  sorrow  worse  than  physical  wounds — this  tale 
He  tells,  not  of  himself,  but  ethers." 

—OLD  PLAT. 

In  order  that  the  story  we  are  about  to  tel 
may  be  better  understood,  it  is  our  purpose  to 
go  back  ten  years  from  its  commencement, 
and  introduce  the  characters  in  previous 
scenes. 

Constance  Plantagenet  was  the  daughter 
and  sole  child  of  Pierrepont  Spencer  Neville 
Plantagenet,  and  Lady  Henrietta  Plantagenet 
— descended  from  an  old  family,  and  allied  by 
both  sides  of  the  house  to  those  of  the  high- 
est rank  in  the  British  peerage.  Tall  and 
commanding  in  person,  handsome  in  face  and 
figure,  and  graceful  in  every  movement,  she 
commanded  universal  admiration  in  the  society 
amid  which  she  mingled.  But  from  her  par- 
ents she  inherited  a  cold  and  artificial  manner. 
If  she  had  what  is  known  as  "  heart",  the 
knowledge  appeared  confined  to  her  own 
breast,  and  perhaps  that  of  her  foster-sister, 
Fanny  Shelley,  who  appeared  to  be  her  sole 
confidante. 

With  a  girl  like  Constance,  and  under  the 
tutelage  of  euch  parents,  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  mere  affection  would  guide  her  in 
the  choice  of  a  husband.  So,  when  her  father 
announced  to  her  that  he  had  accepted  an 
offer  for  her  hand  from  the  most  noble  the 
JMirquis  of  Westcheeter,  it  was  natural  enough 
that  she  should  yield  to  her  father's  order 
without  demur  ;  for,  was  not  the  lover,  though 
more  than  twice  her  age,  noble,  wealthy,  and 
of  commanding  influence?  Yet  it  was  not 
without  a  fierce  struggle  that  she  accepted  the 
alliance,  for  there  was  a  terrible  secret  be- 
hind— a  secret  to  be  hidden,  if  possible,  for 
ever. 

She  was  already  a  wife  and  a  mother. 
One  year  before,  she  had  been  clandestinely 
married  at  the  Church  of  St.  Mary'e, 


Yiscount  Bertram,  the  only  son  of  the  Earl  o 
Brackieigh— the  latter  a  nobleman  of  penu- 
rious habits,  and  supposed  to  be  very  poor. 
The  only  witnesses  were :  the  curate,  Sidney 
Reyner,  who  solemnized  the  marriage ;  the 
clerk,  John  Smith,  and  Frances  Shefiey,  the 
foster-sister  of  the  bride.  Estrangement,  how- 
ever, grew  between  the  couple  so  much  so, 
that  the  wife  concealed  from  her  husband  the 
fact  that  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother, 
and,  finally,  the  birth  of  her  child,  a  daughter. 
This  child  was  placed  by  Fanny  Shelley,  who 
was  thoroughly  devoted  to  her  young  mistress, 
in  charge  of  a  nurse. 

When  the  Marquis  of  West  Chester  proposed 
marriage  to  Constance,  she  sought  an  inter- 
view with  the  Viscount.  She  told  him  of  the 
offer  she  had  received,  -.nd,  also,  that  she  knew 
he  was  half  engaged  to  a  Miss'  Grizzle,  the 
daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  railroad-contractor, 
and  she  proposed  to  annul  their  marriage  in 
an  original  though  not  exactly  a  legal  way. 
The  curate  who  had  selemnized  it  had  joined 
the  Church  cf  Rome,  and  was  a  missionary  in 
foreign  parts — never,  in  all  probability,  to  re- 
turn"; the  clerk  was  dead,  and  the  remaining 
witness,  her  maid,  was  thoroughly  devoted  to 
her,  and  would  be  sent  away.  It  was  then  tyut 
to  destroy  the  certificate  of  marriage,  and  the 
thing  was  done.  An  altercation  ensued  ;  but, 
in  the  end,  the  strong  will  of  Constance 
triumphed.  Her  wedding-ring  was  crushed  to 
fragments  beneath  her  heel,  the  certificate 
burned;  and  the  two  parted,  as  ihej  sup- 
posed, forever.  In  a  short  while,  Yiscount 
Bertram  married  Miss  Grizzle,  and  Constance 
became  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester. 

There  was,  however,  a  witness  ur known  to 
both,  of  their  final  interview.  That  was  Sat 
Ferret,  the  Viscount's  groom,  who  had  over- 
heard the  whole  interview,  and  intended  it  for  the 
purpose  of  extorting  money.  As  he  was  foolish 
enough  to  engage  in  a  robbery,  in  the  inter- 
val, he  was  convicted  of  the  offence,  and  trans- 
ported for  a  number  of  years. 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


Fanny  Shelley  took  the  child,  and  went  to 
her  native  home  in  Beachborough.  Her  ap- 
pearance, under  the  circumstance?,  occasioned 
infinite  scandal,  and  estranged  her  from  her 
lover,  Stephen  Yere.  A  quarrel  ensued,  and, 
shortly  after,  a  body,  identified  as  that  of 
Fanny  by  seme  of  the  clothing  OB  it,  was  found 
in  a  pond.  Stephen  was  arrested,  charged  with 
the  murder,  and  acquitted  for  want  of  evi- 
dence. He  soon  after  emigrated  to  Canada. 
The  parents  of  Shelley  did  not  locg  survive, 
and  the  infant  grew  up  under  the  i^^inal  care 
of  the  villagers,  and,  especially,  4Vof  Si^c 
Atten. 

Five  years  had  passed  away  when  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Westchester,  who  had  part  of  the 
time  been  on  the  Continent,  and  had  heard 
nothing  of  the  death  of  Fanny,  took  it  into  her 
head  to  visit  the  Abbey  at  Beachborougb, 
which  had  been  an  estate  of  her  father's,  but 
then  in  her  husband's  possession.  While  there, 
eorne  of  the  guests  discovered  an  interesting 
and  beautiful  child,  known  generally  as  the 
Pool  Girl.  Some  inquiries  being  made  tbout 
her,  the  Marchionees  discovered,  to  her  horror, 
that  it  was  her  own,  and  learned  of  the  death 
of  Fancy.  In  her  terror,  she  determined  to 
have  the  child  disposed  of,  and  hired  a  hand- 
some gipsy  woman,  named  Hagar  Lot,  to  steal 
and  carry  it  away.  The  gipsy,  aided  by  one 
of  her  own  race,  Liper  Leper,  who  was  enam- 
ored of  her,  did  PO,  and  placed  it  in  charge  of 
a  gipsy  couple — Daddy  "Windy  acd  Diana,  his 
•wife.  These  used  the  beauty  of  the  child  for 
money-making,  and,  by  sending  her  abroad  to 
Bell  flowers,  and  sing,  reaped  a  golden  haivest. 

The  Viscount  Bertram,  through  the  death 
of  his  father,  became  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and 
then.it  was  discovered  that  Ihe  o]d  Earl,  in- 
stead of  being  poor,  was  only  mieerly.  The 
new  Earl  found  himself  exceedingly  rich.  In 
the  course  of  events,  the  Esrl  and  the  Mar- 
cLioness  met.  Incidents  in  their  meeting,  to- 
gether with  the  events  at  IJeecbborougb,  en- 
gendered suspicion  in  the  mind  of  the  Marquis 
of  Westchester,  and  he  commenced,  a  patient 
investigation.  Similar  suspicions  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  with  like 
results. 


Five  years  more  elapeed,  and  a 
took  place  in  the  fortune?  of  the  Poor  Girl. 
She  went  to  sing  at  Ascot  Races,  and  to  theee 
at  the  same  time  came  the  Westchester  and 
Bracfeleigh  families  ;  the  carriages  of  both,  by 
accident,  being  drawn  up  side  by  side.  Here, 
too,  came  to  see  the  races  Susan  Atten,  with 
her  lover,  Harry  Vere,  and  his  friends.  With 
the  Earl  of  Brsckleigh  came  also  a  \ourg  no- 
bleman, Lord  Victor,  who  had  occe  before  in- 
terpoeed  to  shield  little  Floret — for  so  the  Poor 
Girl  was  named — from  ill-treatment,  and  for 
whom  slift  entertained  feelings  of  childish  grat- 
itude. By  an  old  song  which  the  child  sacg 
Suean  Atten  recognized  her  lost  darling,  and 
aided  by  Harry  Vere,  and  his  friends,  bore  her 
off  in  triumph,  in  spite  of  an  attempt  made 


by  the  gipaies  to  rescue  her.  At  these  eame 
races,  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  had  an  interview 
with  the  Marchioness.  His  old  love  had  re- 
burned  with  renewed  force,  and  he  threatened, 
f  she  did  not  return  to  him,  to  avow  their  sever- 
al bigamies,  and  endure  the  consequences.  The 
events  of  the  day  excited  still  moie  the  fearful 
suspicions  of  the  Marquis  and  the  Countess, 
and  eet  them  more  vigorously  to  woik  to  pen- 
etrate the  mystery. 

Hagar  Lot,  at  ttiis  juncture,  found  Ihe  Mar- 
chit  nees,  and  prcmieed.  to  steal  the  child 
again,  end  tend  her  from  the  country. 

Nat  Ferret  had  now  returred  irom  transpor- 
tation, en  a  ticket  of  leave,  given  to  him  for 
good  conduct  while  in  the  penal  colory,  and 
at  CBCC  proceeded  to  make  n&rket  of  his 
krowledge.  He  etdeavoreo  to  obttin  access 
to  the  Earl  ef  Brtcfeleigh,  but  was  kicked  cut 
by  the  tervante.  Kotb)ig  daurted,  he  drew 
tip  a  mysterious  card,  dieplayirg  his  knowl- 
edge it  the  bigamy,  ard  irclcted  it  to  the 
Efcil.  This  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Count- 
ess, who  at  oice  appointed  sn  interview  with 
the  writer.  AF  both  were  froceedirg  to  the 
piece  fixed  on,  Nat  ceme  ecrces  the  Earl,  to 
whom  be  opened  his  fcutirtes.  The  Earl  was 
alarmed,  aid  after  en  interview,  which  the 
Countess,  wlo  had  followed,  managed  to  over- 
bear, the  peer  toek  the  groom  bcrce.  The 
Cotsmess,  in  the  meanwhile,  euerectirg  the 
Poor  Girl  to  be  ler  tuebend  s  child,  antici- 
pated the  gipei<  s,  at d  bad  ter  conveyed  to  the 
Earl's  mar-Mon,  overccnairg  SuEanTB  lemon- 
etrsnces.  Both,  therefore,  had  their  ttveral 
eeorete  under  the  eeme  roof. 

Peer  Suean  Atten  bad  euffered,  however,  by 
her  recovery  of  Floret;  for  her  conscience 
would  not  allow  fcer  to  burthen  Herry  vith 
this  charge.  Their  marriage  was  therefore 
postponed,  to  his  great  dismay.  He  jitldcd, 
bowever,  and  went  to  Canada  to  eee  his 
brother,  Stephen. 

What  in  the  meanwhile  of  the  Marquis  and 
the  MarchioreeB?  The  former  pvuued  Lis 
investigations  laboriously.  He  opened  bis 
wife's  escritoire  dur;rg*  a, ewccn  of  hers,  and 
obtained  from  it  a  miniature  of  Bertram,  a 
lock  of  tie  child's  hair,  and  other  triflte — all 
licks  in  the  chain;  and  pottiig  r'own  to 
Beachborougb,  endeavored  1o  ptri/p  Dr  Bird, 
the  jredical  attendant  of  the  Maictioiefe  when 
sbe  was  Mifs  Constance.  Fr<m  him  he 
cbtaiied  nothing  certain.  The  Marc-bioLfte, 
v  t  o  felt  tit  e  ret  cloeirgarcurc^hfr,  made  ahold 
effort  to  cut  its  metbes.  FromHeger  Lot,  the 
obtfeired  a  subue  and  deadly  poiecr,  to  fcold 
in  caeecf  ceed,  aid  then  deierrr>E<d  or  a  bold 
emke.  She  repaired  to  St.  MSTJ'B  Church, 
at  Hove,  and  by  amueirg  the  c.'eiJr,  naneged 
to  cut  1be  page  cottaiiiirg  the  record  of  the 
marriage  from  the  book.  Someone  eeemedto 
paes  her  at  the  tinoe,  and  enter  the  vestry. 
Ste  returned  home,  and  locked  the  abptracted 
page  securely  in  her  eecritcire.  She  ftlt  now 
that  her  fate  was  in  her  own  hands. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  A  diamond  coronet  deck'd  her  brow, 
Bloom  on  her  cheek  a  vermeil  glow  ; 
The  terrors  of  her  fiery  eye 
Poured  forth  insufferable  day, 
And  shed  a  wildly  lurid  ray. 
A  Finite  upon  her  features  play'd". 
But  there,  too,  safe  portray'd 
Tue  inventive  malice  of  a  soul 
"When  wild  demoniac  passions  roll ; 
Despair  and  torment  on  her  broir 
Had  mark'd  a  melancholy  wo& 
In  dark  and  deepened  shade. 
Under  those  hypocritic  smiles, 
Deceitful  as  the  serpent's  wiles, 
Her  hate  and  malice  were  conceal'd." 

— THE  WANDEKINO  JEW, 

Hagar  Lot  was  stationed  at  the  spot  where 
she  had  parted  from  the  Marchioness  when  the 
latter  returned  to  Raby. 

She  conducted  her  in  silence  to  her  cham- 
ber within  the  antique  hall  by  the  same  route 
as  that  by  which  she  had  departed  from  it. 

The  Marchioness  briefly,  almost  curtly,  bade 
hergood-night  upon  the  thieshold  of  her  room- 
door,  and  Hagar  turned  silently  away  as  the 
latter  entered  the  apartment. 

While  shewaa  depositing  the  stolen  register 
of  her  marriage  with  Bertram  in  her  escritoir, 
her  chamber-door  noiselessly  opened,  and  a 
dusky  figure  glided  in 

With  s wife  but  soundless  step  it  crossed  the 
apartment,  and  disappeared  silently  behind 
the  massive  drapery  which  covered  the  win- 
dow. 

There,  crouched  up  in  a  small  compass,  it 
lay  concealed. 

Worn,  weary,  exhausted  by  excitement  and 
fatigue,  the  Marchioness  retired  to  rest,  and 
was  soon  plunged  into  a  heavy  but  perturbed 
sleep. 

Close  to  her  "bedside,  within  reach  of  her 
hand,  stood  a  small  table,  of  elight  make,  but 
beautifully  inlaid  with  brass  and  red  porphyry. 
Upon  it  was  her  handkerchief,  a  bottle  of  am- 
moniacal  salts,  and  email  basket  of  gold  fila- 
gree work. 

Within  that  basket  lay  a  bunch  of  keys. 

The  tirst  rays  of  dawa  cast  a  cold  blue  light 
within  the  chamber,  and  its  ghastly  beams  fell 
upoa  the  lithe,  slim  figure  of  a  young  man,  who 
stood  motionless  by  her  bedside. 

He  removed  the  keys  from  the  basket  noise- 
lessly, and  glided  with  them  behind  one  of  the 
window-curtains,  where  he  examined,  by  the 
rays  of  the  fast  coming  day,  each  one  separ- 
ately and  attentively. 

He  quickly  selected  one,  and  reappearing 
from  bebiad  the  curtain,  moved  with  cat-like 
tread  to  the  escritoir. 

He  applied  the  key  to  it,  and  it  proved  to 
be  the  right-  one,  for  he  opened  the  desk  read- 
ily. 

A  folded  paper  lay  before  him.  He  raised 
it,  and  examined  it.  He  drew  from  his  breast 
one  resembling  it,  and  folding  it  rapidly  but 
silently,  precisely  in  the  same  form,  he  laid 
it  where  the  other  had  been  placed,  and  put- 
ting the  latter  carefully  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  bis  coat,  he  locked  the  escritoir,  mutter- 
ing : 


11  For  the  Wild  White  Rose.  The  bud  shall 
blossom  and  bloom,  and  shall  yet  become  the 
fairest  flower  of  them  all !"  ! 

He  returned  swiftly  to  the  small  table  by 
the  bedside,  and  restored  the  keys  to  the  gold- 
en basket.  Then  he  retreated  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  disappeared,  closing  it  behind 
him,  without  making  the  slightest  seund. 

It  was  mid-day  when  the  Marchioness  arose, 
and  her  first  act  was  to  proceed  to  her  escri- 
toir, She  •fdtnd  there  a  paper  apparently  as 
she  had  left  it,  and  proceeded  to  open  it.  She- 
recognized,  as  she  unfolded  it,  the  coarse  baud- 
writing  which  she  had  seen  in  the  book,  and 
two  or  three  signatures  in  female  handwriting, 
but  before  she  could  completely  open  the  sheet 
to  gaze  once  more  upon  the  record  of  her  own 
legal  marriage,  she  heard  the  Bound  of  a  foot- 
step and  the  rustle  of  a  dress. 

She  turned  her  head,  and  saw  her  attendant, 
Fane. 

She  sharply  bade  her  leave  the  room,  and 
return  in  two  or  three  minutes.  On  the 
young  woman  obeying  her,  she  hastily  folded 
the  paper  into  as  small  a  compass  as  she 
could,  and  pressing  a  spring,  revealed  a  nest  of 
secret  drawers  within  the  desk,  in  one  of  which 
ehe  placed  it.  She  then  re-locked  the  escri- 
toir, and,  returning  to  her  dressing-room,  she 
seated  herself  aad  placed  her  hands  over  her 
eyes. 

"What  shall  destroy  my  fame  now  I1"  she 
murmured.  "  Bertram  ?"  she  ejaculated,  re- 
flectively. A  bitter  smile  curled  her  lip. 
"  He  cannot  blight  me  with  his  new-found 
love,  for  now  I  can  with  safety  dare  the  worst 
he  can  attempt.  Let  him  say  to  the  world, 
"She  is  my  wife,'  I  will  answer,  " It  is  false !  I 
challeEge  you  to  the  proof!'  Ay  I  where  will 
he  find  proof?  Shelley,  the  Curate,  his  Clerk 
— all,  all  gone — dead— dead!  The  register? 
— aha!  aha! — I  have  that.  Circumstances? 
]S~o,  we  met  in  secret.  We  corresponded,  it  is 
true,  but  he  has  returned  to  me  all  the  letters 
I  ever  wrote  to  him ;  and  if  he  has  not,  there 
ia  not  one  which  bears  my  signature  —  no,  not 
one.  It  was  so  arranged.  I  remember  that. 
The  child—" 

A  wailieg  sob  burst  from  her  lips,  but  she 
pressed  her  eyelids  lightly.  She  pressed  her 
clenched  fist  upon  her  heart,  and  she  stifled 
her  emotion. 

"  He  never  knew  of  its  existence,"  she 
groaned  ;  "  asd  he  cannot — no,  neither  he  nor 
any  other  living  being  can  prove  it  to  be 
mine  !  No — no — no !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
low,  shivering  tone. 

She  remained  silent  for  a  little  while, 
I  plunged  in  the  moat  intense  '^reflection,  and 
j  then,  rousing  herself,  she  added : 

"  Since,  then,  not  even  Bertram  himself  can 

prove  me  to  be  his  wife,  what  have  I  to  fear? 

;  — nothing !    Besides,   do  I  not  hold  in  my 

I  possession  the  power  of  life  or  death — of  com- 

1  manding  the  secrecy  of— my  God,  let  me  not 

think  of  that !" 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  rang  a  bell 
I  yioleatly. 


c 


HAGAR  LOT 


i  Fane  almost  immediately  responded  by  ap- 
pearing. 

j  The  Marchioness  eyed  her  for  a  minute  with 
a  searching  scrutiny,  which  made  the  girl  be- 
come at  first  of  the  hue  of  crimson,  and  then  a 
deathly  white.  She  felt  un pleasantly  con- 
scious that  the  Marchioness  had  become  aware 
that  her  services  had  been  purchased  by  the 
Earl  ofBrackleigh,  an-1  that  she  did  not  ap- 
prove of  it.  She  would  have  been  delighted 
at  that  moment  if  ehe  could  hate-  descended 
into  the  apartments  beneath,  as  swiftly  and 
as  effectively  as  mysterious  spirits  do  at 
theatres  in  demon  dramas  ;  but  as  she  was  not 
gifted  with  such  supernatural  powers,  she  was 
compelled  to  remain  where  she  was,  and  bear 
the  glance  which — 

;     "  Like  a  sharp  spear,  went  through  her  utterly, 
;        Keen,  cruel,  preceant,  stinging." 

"  Fane,"  exclaimed  the  Marchioness,  when 
she  had  completed  her  steadfast  perusal  of  her 
features,  '•  I  regard  you  as  being  in  my  service 
only.  If  I  should  have  further  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  I  am  mistaken  in  this  impression,  I 
shall  dismiss  you — without  hesitation  dismiss 
you." 

She  paused.  Fane  remained  silent.  She 
understood  the  Marchioness's  meaning,  and 
•was  ready  to  faint. 

Presently,  the  Marchioness  inquired  : 
"Was  the  Marquis  in  London  when  you 
left?" 

"He  was,  my  Lady,"  she  replied,  in  a 
trembling  tone.  "  "His  lordship  had  just  ar- 
rived from  abroad." 

"Abroad!''  repeated  the  Marcnioness,  with 
surprise  ;  "  from  what  place  abroad  ?" 

"From  Paris,  I  believe,  my  Lady,"  answered 
Fane. 

Paris !  Her  father  was  at  Paria.  Had  the 
Marquis  been  to  see  him  ?  If  so,  upon  what 
subject  ? 

She  mused.  She  had  a  shrewd  ana  an  un- 
pleasant suspicion  of  the  truth.  She  did  not 
wish  her  father  to  be  dragged  into  her  differ- 
ences with  the  Marquis.  She  felt  vexed  and 
angry  that  the  latter  should  attempt  to  do  it. 
She  turned  her  brilliant  eyes  upon  Fane,  and 
said,  with  a  marked  emphasis  : 

"Prepare  for  my  return  to  London  to  day. 
or  at  latest  to-morrow  morniag ;  and  mark  me, 
Fane,  if  my  intentions  should  be  made  known 
to  any  person  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 
hall,  you  will  have  to  suffer  the  consequences, 
They  may  prove  calamitous  to  you,"  she  ad- 
ded, in  a  lower  tone. 

Fane  shuddered  involuntarily.  There  was 
eomething  singularly  terrible  in  the  tone  of  the 
Marchioness's  voice — something  yet  more  ter- 
rible in  the  sharp  flash  of  her  eye  as  she  quit- 
ed  the  room. 

Fane  had  previously  observed  that  she  was 
greatly  changed,  both  in  appearance  and  man- 
ner. She  was  unacquainted  with  the  cause, 
but  she  was  convinced  that  it  must  be  some- 
thing of  a  peculiarly  grave  character  which  had 
produced  so  marked  an  alteration  in  her. 
.  She  had  at  first  a  notion  that  the  love  of  the 


Earl  of  Brackleigh,  as  soon  as  she  had  become 
acquainted  with  it,  had  occasioned  the  change- 
but,  upon  reflection,  she  dismissed  that  impres- 
sion, because  she  felt  sure  no  woman  feels  de- 
moniacal after  receiving  a  declaration  of  love 
from  a  handsome  and  comparatively  young  no- 
bleman, even  if  that  love  be  naughty  in  prin- 
ciple, and  not  for  a  moment  to  be  entertained  ; 
and  ehe  was  certain  that  the  Marchioness  look- 
ed at  her  more  with  the  expression  of  a  Satan- 
ella  than  a  seraph. 

She  was,  therefore,  at  a  loss  to  conceive 
what  could  have  conversed  her  fascinating, 
beautiful,  and  stately  mistress  into  a  frowning, 
evil-looking  Circe.  She  could  only,  as  she  de- 
sired to  retain  her  situation,  decide  upon  re- 
fusing for  the  future  to  assist  the  Earl  in  his 
designs  upon  her  mistress,  and  to  give  up  all 
thoughts  of  that  vulgar-tongued  but  smartly- 
dressed  groom,  who,  having  whispered  to  her 
that  he  behaved  he  was  a  "  spar-rer",  and  her 
lips  "  wue"  cherries,  had  kissed  her  with  a  kind 
of  high-pressure  action  before  she  had  any  idea 
that  he  "  drempt"  of  such  a  piece  of  saucy  im 
pertinence. 

Although  she  had  promised  the  Earl  to 
meet  him  or  his  groom  at  an  appointed  ren- 
dezvous, she  refrained  from  going  there  on  the 
day  she  made  preparations  to  accompany  the 
Marchioness  to  London.  For  two  reasons — 
firstly,  because  the  Marchioness  had  by  impli 
cation  forbidden  her  ;  and  secondly,  she  ascer- 
tained that  the  window  of  her  mistress's  eit- 
ting-room  commanded  the  spot  upon  which 
she  had  already  met  the  short,  natty  groom, 
and  where  he  had  fancied  himself  a  sparrow 
and  her  lips  cherries,  and  where,  probably,  the 
Marchioness  had  beheld  the  consequences  of 
that  delusion.  Now,  as  she  had  a  very  power- 
ful conceit,  that  if  she  went  thither  again,  and 
fchould  happen  to  meet  the  groom  instead  of 
the  Earl,  the  man  instead  of  the  master,  she 
she  should  find  the  former  laboring  under  a 
very  severe  attack  of  the  same  delusion,  she 
considered  that  it  would  be  a  wiser  plan  not  to 
quit  the  hall  again  until  she  took  her  place 
in  the  rumble  of  the  traveling-carriage  beside 
Lady  Henrietta's  maid,  for  whom  she  enter- 
tained the  bitterest  objection,  and  with  whom 
she  knew  that  she  should  quarrel  the  whole 
way  to  London. 

The  Lady  Henrietta,  who  had  had  enough 
of  Raby  Hall,  especially  as  her  skin  was  resum- 
ing its  paper-like  whiteness,  and  the  blue-bot- 
tle had  not  so  very  greatly  inconvenienced 
her  as  she  expected,  as,  indeed,  it  might  have 
done  if  it  had  been  a  large  pearl  quaffed  in  a 
draught  of  true  Falernian,  announced  her  readi- 
ness to  depart  as  soon  aa  the  Marchionees  was 
prepared  to  leave  the  hall.  But  her  prepara- 
tions were  of  a  more  extended  character  than 
those  of  her  daughter  ;  it  was  not  until  the 
next  day,  therefore,  that  she  was  ready  to 
move. 

The  Marchioness  caused  it  to  be  made 
known  that  they  would  leave  the  hall  at  four 
o'clock.  She  arranged  and  so  contrived  it, 
hat  the  small  cavalcade,  well  horsed  and  eexv- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


tanted,  quitted  it  at  two  o'clock  ;  and,  conse- 
quently, as  she  expected-,  she  did  not  see,  in 
any  direction,  any  sign  of  the  Earl  of  Brack- 
leigh  or  hia  groota. 

They  reached  London  late  that  night,  and 
the  Lady  Henrietta  slept  at  the  mansion  of  the 
Marquis  of  Westchester. 

Not  a  little  to  the  surprise  of  the  Marquis, 
who  was  at  home,  the  Mirchione-?s  seat  word 
to  him  that  herself  an<1  Lady  Henrietta  would 
receive  him  at  breakfast  ba  the  following 
morning. 

At  first  he  was  disposed  to  decline  the  honor, 
by  making  some  excuse  of  a  previous  engage- 
ment ;  but,  upon  reflection,  he  resolved  to 
meet  the  Marchioness,  and  examine  attentively 
her  face,  while,  as  if  casually,  he  mentioned 
two  or  three  circumstances,  which,  he  felt  as- 
sured, must  probe  her  to  the  heart,  and  possi- 
bly elicit  from  her  some  confirmation  of  the 
suspicions  he  entertained. 

The  presence  of  Lidy  Henrietta,  he  believed, 
would  give  him  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
carry  his  dssign  into  execution  ;  and,  eventu- 
ally, he  sent  a  message  to  them,  to  say  that  he 
would  join  them  at  ten  in  the  morning. 

As  the  clock  struck  ten,  he  entered  the 
breakfast-room. 

Both  ladies  rose  to  receive  him.  The  Mar- 
chioness glanced  at  him.  She  saw  that  he 
was  pale,  and  thst  his  features,  though  rigid, 
betrayed  that  there  was  some  terrible  ex- 
citement bubblisg,  seething,  boiling,  be- 
neath that  apparently  cold  and  impassible 
exterior. 

Followed,  at  a  respectful  distance,  by  two 
powdered  lacqueys,  he  advanced,  with  slow 
and  stately  step,  saluted  lady  Henrietta  and 
the  Marchioness  with  stiff  politeness,  and 
look  the  chair  which  had  been  placed  for 
him  opposite  the  Marchioness,  who  presided 
at  the  table. 

When  the  ladies  had  resumed  their  seats, 
the  Lady  Henrietta  raised  her  eye-glass,  and 
examined  the  features  of  the  Marquis  atten- 
tively, and  did  so  with  a  species  of  well-bred 
ease  and  self-possession,  which  prevented  se 
direct  a  stare  being  offensive  in  its  character. 

"  Why,  Westchester,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  your  trip  to  Paris  has  not  improved  your 
looks." 

He  started,  and  for  a  moment,  looked  in- 
quiringly "at  her  ;  and  then  said,  frigidly  : 

"  I  regret  that  it  should  not  have  had  the 
result  your  ladyship  appears  to  have  antici- 
pated." 

"  It  has  not,  indeed,"  she  replied,  readily. 
*'  You  should  have  accompanied  us  to  Raby 
Hall.  It  was  so  unkind  of  you  to  refuse  us  ; 
indeed  your  lordship  will  pardon  me,  I  thought 
it  almost  barbarous  that  you  did  not,  even  for 
a  day  or  so,  delight  and  honor  us  with  your 
your  company."  -t 

He  started  again,  and  looked  at  her  won- 
deringly. 

"  Positively  cruel,"  she  "continued,  remov- 
ing her  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  Marquis,  and 
fastening  them  upon  a  cold  partridge,  to 


which  she  directed  the  attention  of  one  of  the 
attendants,  who  immediately  assisted  her  to 
half  of  it  ;  "  decidedly  cruel.  I  am  sure 
Lady  Westchester  was  heartbroken  about 
your  marked  absence— were  you  not,  my  dear 
Constance." 

The  Marquis  appeared,  for  an  instant, 
astounded.  He  glanced  at  the  Marchioness, 
and  saw  her  beautiful  lips  curling  with  an  ex- 
pression of  ineffable  scorn. 

"  He  recovered  his  self-possession,  and  re- 
sumed his  frigid  mien. 

"  Your  ladyship's  memory  does  not  serve  you 
faithfully,  I  fear,"  he  eaid,  in  measured  tones. 
"  You  will  remember,  Lady  Henrietta,  that  I 
was  n->t  consulted  at  all  in  the  matter.  Your 
ladyship  was  indisposed,  you  required  change 
and  quiet,  you  naturally  sought  the  compan- 
ionship of  your  daughter,  for  it  was  scarcely 
to  be  expected  that  you  would  bury  yourself 
in  the  solitude  of  the  country  quite  alone. 
You  expressed  a  wish,  in  a  note  addressed  by 
your  ladyship  to  me,  that  that  solitude  should 
not  be  disturbed,  and  I  respected  it." 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  added : 

"Your  ladyship  having  mentioned  my  ab 
sence  on  the  Continent,  overlooks  the  fact  that 
it  would  have  been  scarcely  possible  for  me  to 
have  viiited  Raby  Hall  and  Paris  at  the  same 
time." 

Without  appearing  to  heed  his  sarcastic 
tone,  she  rejoiced  : 

"  Ah,  yes,  Paris  ;  you  saw  Plantagenet,  of 
course  T1 

The  Marchioness  listened  for  the  answer 
with  intense  eagerness,  although  she  eeemed 
to  be  lost  in  thought  while  caressing  a  favor- 
ite Italian  greyhound. 

"hl  was  not  so  fortunate,"  responded  the 
Marquis,  in  a  somewhat  marked  tone. 

He  wished  the  Marchioness  to  understand 
tint  he  had  Bought  him  with  a  special  pur- 
pose. 

She  knew  instinctively  that  he  had. 
"  Bless  me  !"  exclaimed  Lady  Henrietta,  in 
a  tone  of  surprise  ;  "  how  odd  !    Plantagenet 
is  in  Paris?" 

"  Was!"  answered  his  lordship,  laconically. 
'•  Not  there  !   Heavens!  Where  can  he  be  ?" 
she  cried,  with  unaffected  astonishment. 

"At  Raby  Hall,  I  presume,  by  this  time, 
Lady  Henrietta,"  returned  the  Marqiais,  coolly. 
'•Raby  Hall!"  repeated  Lady  Henrietta, 
starting.  "  Gracious  !  What  can  be  the 
meaning  of  such  erratic  conduct?  He  left 
London  for  Paris,  I  imagine,  only  a  few  days 
before  your  lordship.  How  ceuld  you  possi- 
bly have  missed  him,  and  what  can  he  want  at 
Raby  Hall?" 

A  sardonic  smile,  for  an  instant  only,  moved 
the  lips  of  the  Marquis. 

"I  apprehend,"  he  answered,  "that,  lees 
cruel  than  myself,  he  desired  to  see  your  lady- 
ship while  in  retirement  at  Raby;"  and  then, 
added,  quickly :  "  I  had  a  peculiar  wish  to 
have  an  interview  with  Mr.  Plantagenet  on  a 
matter  of  the  gravest  moment — at  least,  to 


HAGAtt  LOT  ; 


me ;  but,  on  ftiihring  at  Paris,  I  learned  that 
he  was  upon  a  short  visit  to  Louis  Philippe,  at 
JTeuilly.  I  followed  him  thither,  but  found 
that  he  had  quitted  it  two  days  before  my  ar; 
rival,  for  Lyons.  I  followed  him  to  Lyons  - 
he  had  posted  to  Marseilles.  I  posted  to  Mar- 
seilles ;  he  had  sailed  to  Civita  Vecchia.  I 
Bailed  to  Civita  Vecchia,  and  he  came  out  of 
the  port  on  his  return,  as  I  entered  it.  I  fol- 
lowed him  back  as  fast  as  I  could  travel,  but 
could  not  overtake  him.  I  pursued  him  to 
London,  and  yesterday,  at  midday,  I  proceed- 
ed to  Plantagenet  House,  hoping  to  catch  him ; 
but  he  had  started  half  an  hour  previously  for 
Raby  Hall.  I  have  dispatched  a  courier  after 
him,  to  inform  him  that  I  am  anxious  that  he 
should  make  nn  appointment,  to  grant  me  an 
interview,  either  at  Raby,  or  here  in  London." 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  flighty 
and  bewildering,  could  have  induced  Planta- 
genet to  ecour  France  in  such  an  extraordi- 
nary manner  ?"  ejaculated  Lady  Henrietta,  in 
a  bewildered  tone. 

"  Some  individual  haa  some  Sevres  plates, 
and  cups  and  saucers,  a  few  nique  gems, 
and  other  articles  of  that  description,  to  dis- 
.pose  of,"  returned  the  Marquis,  in  an  in- 
different tone.  "  The  man  had  offered  them 
to  Louis  Phillippe,  but  the  French  King 
thought  the  price  too  high,  and  the  person 
proceeded  to  Rome,  to  submit  them  to  an 
English  connoisseur,  who  is  there  purchasing 
some  of  the  wonders  always  on  sale  to  the 
wealthy.  Plantagenet  secured  hia  prize  at 
Civita  Vecchia,  and  returned  instanter  with  it. 
I  presume  he  has  hastened  to  Raby  Hall,  to 
exhibit  to  your  ladyship  the  treasures  he  has 
thus  made  his  own." 

"  Doubtless,"  returned  Lady  Henrietta,  with 
a  slight  yawn.  "But  he  will  have  to  display 
them  to  me  in  London.  I  could '  not  journey 
again  to  that  horrid  Raby  to  eee  a  few  plates, 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  however  choice  and 
•unique  they  might  be." 

"I  might  almost  be  worth  the  trouble  of 
asking  a  question  to  ascertain  from  you, 
Westchester,  an  explanation  of  the  cause  of 
your  most  vigorous  but  unsuccessful  chase  of 
papa  ?"  observed  the  Marchioness,  with  com- 
plete self-pofisession,  and  with  a  tone  of  irony 
which  stung  the  Marquis  sharply.  "How 
amusing  it  must  have  proved,  if  one  could 
have  seen  it  as  one  sees  such  flight  and  pursuit 
at  theatres !  More  exciting  than  the  scenes 
which  entertained  us  at  Raby  Hall,  Lady  Hen- 
rietta ? ,  You  really  must  have  had  some  un- 
usually serious  subject,  Westchester,  to  dis- 
cuss with  papa,  to  have  chased  him  BO  severe- 
ly and  persistently  ?" 

He  gazed  at  her  with  set  teeth  and  knitted 
brows.  Her  eyes  were  fastened  upon  his,  but 
her  beautiful  face  was  free  from  all  expression, 
Bare  a  cold,  satirical,  and  even  contemptuous 
set  of  her  mouth,  which  made  him  inwardly 
chafe  to  observe. 

i     "I  had,  Lady  Westchester,  a  very  serioua 
subject !"  he  exclaimed,  emphatically. 
j^  "  I  should  like  to  hear  it,  Westchester  ?"  she 


rejoined,  he*  smile  of  cold  »corn  betraying 
itself  yet  more  visibly  than  before.  "It  is  a 
woman's  privilege  to  be  curious,  you  brow, 
Westchester,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  which 
staggered  him,  it  was  so  light  and  playful,  «nd 
harmonized  BO  ill  with  the  expmsion  upon 
her  lip. 

"  You  shall,  Lady  Westchester,"  he  replied. 

"  Now  ?"  she  inquired,  pattiag  the  heed  of 
her  dog  gently,  and  bending  her  eyes  down 
upon  it. 

"  Not  now,"  returned  the  Marquis,  a  little 
louder  in  his  tone,  and  with  more  empbaeis- 
"  Not  now,  but  certairly  before  jour  lady, 
ship  goes  out,  either  to  ride  or  drive." 

"  Thank  you,  Westchester,"  she  responded, 
and  addressed  an  unimportant  remark  to  Lady 
Henrietta,  yet  one  which  she  knew  would  eet 
her  talking,  and  would  give  her  time  to  think, 
or  at  least  to  nerve  herself  for  the  coming  in- 
terview with  the  Marquis. 

The  vapid  talk  of  Lady  Henrietta  was  cut 
short,  however,  by  the  M*rquie,  who  failed  to 
hear  a  single  word  of  her  tiresome  remaiks. 
He  rose  up  from  a  fit  of  deep  and  moody 
abstraction,  and,  bowing,  quitted  the  chamber. 

The  Marchioness,  almost  immediately  after- 
ward, roee  and  conducted  Lady  Hemietta  to 
her  boudoir,  and,  on  reaching  it,  ehe  gave 
her  a  book,  and  bade  her  amuee  herself  *ith 
it  during  her  absence.  Before  Lady  Henrietta 
could  utter  a  remark,  the  Marchionees  left  her 
marveling. 

Left  her  wondering  what  to  do  with  herself, 
now  that  her  husband  had  started  off  to  the 
place  she  had  just  quitted,  and  Plantagenet 
House  was  as  dull  and  gloomy  as  Raby  Hall 
had  been. 

The  Marchioness,  with  slow  and  dignified 
step,  took  her  way  to  the  library  of  the  Mar- 
quis, and  passed  through  it  to  his  study  ad- 
joining. 

He  was  within  it,  seated  at  a  library- table, 
arranging  some  papers,  which  appeared  to  be 
covered  with  a  quantity  of  memoranda. 

He  started  on  perceiving  her,  and  hastily 
pushed  his  papers  up  in  a  heap. 

He  rose  up  fnd  gazed  upon  her  with  a 
troubled  and  inquiring  eye — troubled  because 
he  could  not  understand  her  marvelous  self- 
command,  and  her  wondrous  assumption  of 
elevation  of  deportment,  which  placed  him  in 
her  presence — in  spite  of  his  corsciouenese,  rot 
mean  in  its  extent,  of  his  own  high  rank — in  a 
secondary  position. 

Steadfastly  as  he  gszed  upon  her,  he  could 
not  detect  in  her  face  any  trace  of  coEEcious 
guilt.  He  knew  intuitively  that  she  was  aware 
of  his  suspicions,  that  she  had  read  them  in  his 
looks,  his  altered  manner,  and  in  his  inuen- 
dos.  He  knew,  too,  instinctively  that  ehe  now 
stood  before  him  to  challenge,  to  dare  all  e 
could  say  to  her  ;  and  yet,  but  for  that  cold, 
curling  lip  of  scorn  which  scathed  him,  her 
countenance  was  all  equanimity,  clearer,  plea- 
santer,  happier — no,  that  is  not  the  word — 
more  unclouded,  apparently  freer  from  care, 
than  he  had  seen  it  for  a  long  time  past 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


What  had  happened,  he  could  not  divine 
nor  conceive.  Something  to  destroy  utterly 
his  nearly-completed  chain  of  evidence,  he  did 
not  doubt.  The  very  thought  mide  him  feel 
sick  at  heart ;  not  the  less  so  because  he  guesa- 
ed  that  he  would  be  deprived  of  the  power,  j 
probably,  of  declaring  to  her  what  he  felt  to 
be  the  fact. 

She  perceived  instantly  that  he  wag  perusing 
her  features,  with  the  hope  of  reading  some- 
thing there  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of 
pouring  forth  a  flood  of  assertions,  gathered 
from  sources  with  which  she  waa  yet  unac- 
quainted, and  she  could  not  repress  the  con- 
temptuous curl  of  the  lip,  which  defied  bim 
to  read  on  that  fair  and  beauteous  tablet  one 
word  more  than  she  chose  should  appear 
upon  it. 

She  broke  the  Ice  herself  by  saying : 

"  My  curiosity,  you  perceive,  Westcheeter, 
haa  wings  ;  it  has  brought  me  hither  with  a 
somewhat  unusual  rapidity." 

"Yery  unusual,  Madam,"  he  responded, 
sternly. 

"Very  unnsual,"  she  repeated,  unheeding 
his  cold  tone.  "  But,  then,  one  must  have 
Borne  change  now  and  then,  some  little  excif.e- 
ment  to  counterbalance  the  dullness  we  ccca 
sionally  encounter,  and  so  I  have  sougbt  your 
lordship's  cold,  grave,  grand,  sublime  presence, 
in  the  hope  that  I  shall  meet  with  something 
to  amu&e,  if  not  interest  me." 

"It  will  intereet  you,  no  doubt,  Midaa,"  he 
replied,  grating  his  teeth  together,  "so  deep- 
ly, indeed,  that  you  will  probably  never — " 

"  Siay,  Westchester,  [one  moment,''  she  in- 
terrupted, raising  her  hand.  "  Are  we  likely 
to  be  interrupted  in  a  matter  which  is  to  pos- 
sess such  awful  interest  for  me  ?"  she  inquired. 
"It  would  be  a  pity  if  that  interest  should 
be  divided  by  the  intrusion  of  a  blundering 
servant." 

He  rang  a  bell.  Almost  immediately  his 
secretary  appeared. 

"Mr.  St.  Maur,"  he  said,  "will  you  be  good 
enough  to  leave  the  library  for  a  time,  and 
see  that  no  one  approaches  it  until  further  or- 
ders?' 

Mr.  St.  Maur  bowed,  and  retired. 

"  We  are  quite  alone,  Madam,"  continued 
the  Mirquis,  "and  we  shall  not  be  inter 
rupted." 

"  That  is  well  I"  she  exclaimed. 

Then  facing  him,  she  fastened  her  eyes  firm- 
ly upon  his. 

So  brilliant,  so  piercing,  so  steadfast,  was 
their  expression  that,  for  a  tnoment,  he  turned 
his  own  away.  But  only  for  a  moment,  to 
find  settled  upon  her  lip  that  curl  of  con- 
temptuous scorn  which  etung  him  almost  to 
madness. 

*•  You  have  been  desirous  of  obtaining  an  in- 
terview with  Mr.  Plantagenet,  my  father,  my 
Lord,  upon  a  subiect  of  the  gravest  moment," 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  clear,  firm,  and  resolute 
voice.  "  You  traveled  post  some  hundreds  of 
miles  to  effect  that  object,  and  failed.  Such 
remarkable  anxiety  to  have  an  interview  with 


him  must  have  sprung  from  no  common  cause, 
and  admits  an  explanation." 

"It  does,  Madam!"  he  exclaimed,  sharply, 
even  fiercely. 

"I  am  here,  Lord  Weatchester,  to  heir  it," 
she  said,  in  measured,  dignified,  emphatic,  and 
defiant  tones. 

"You  ehall,  Madam,"  he  replied,  almost 
gasping  for  breath.  "  Be  seated,"  he  added, 
motioning  to  a  chair. 

"  No  ! '  she  returned,  coldly  ;  "  I  prefer  to 
remain  in  my  present  position.  Proceed,  Lord 
Westchester,  with  your  explanation." 

He  turned  his  face  from  her  for  a  moment  to 
remove  with  his  handkerchief  a  cold,  clammy, 
death-like  meisture  from  his  brow,  and  then  he 
turned  to  her  to  find  her  as  calm  and  eelf-pos- 
sessed  as  before,  but  with  the  eame  bitter, 
taunting,  scornful  expression  upon  her  lip. 

CHAPTER  III. 

"  0  mar?,  vain  man  !  poor  fool  of  pride  and  pjvi;, 
Puffed  up  with  every  breath  from  Fortuned  waver- 
ing  vane  ! 

"Why  that  proud  smile?    Sad,  oh,  how  sad  shall  be 

Tay  acted  triumphs,  wten  th'  illusion  clears  ! 
Thine  ejes  shall  weep,  il  still  the  light  they  see." 

— TAS30. 

In  the  interview  he  sought  with  his  wife, 
the  Marquis  of  Westchester  had  reaolved 
to  be  as  cold,  as  frigid,  distant,  and  haughty 
in  his  manner  as  it  was  possible  to  be ;  to 
speak  in  a  freezing  tone,  and  with  averted 
eyes ;  to  bring  home  to  the  Marchioness  the 
damning  crime  of  which  he  believed  her  to  be 
guilty  ;  to  crufch  her  to  the  earth  by  m2\il'irg 
and  humiliating  reproaches,  and  then  to  expel 
her  witk  ignominy  across  his  threshold  for 
ever. 

Such  were  the  feelings  he  called  up  when 
she  entered  the  library,  such  the  demeanor  he 
put  on  when  she  first  addressed  him.  As  he 
cast  his  eyes  upon  her  beautiful  face  and 
graceful  form,  he  felt  himself  prepared  to  meet 
with  icy  impassibility  every  attempt  she 
might  make  at  reconciliation,  for  that  Le  be- 
liered  to  be  her  purpose ;  prepared  to  resist 
her  blandishments,  even  though  they  advsnced 
beyond  a  point  which,  as  yet,  thev  were  far 
from  reaching ;  prepared  to  frigidly  and  in- 
exorably repel  every  look,  gesture,  movement, 
designed  to  divert  him  from  his  purpose — pre- 
pared for  everything,  in  short,  but  her  uncon- 
cealed, ineffable  scorn. 

He  was  not  prepared  for  that. 

It  disconcerted  him,  it  cut  the  ground  from 
under  his  feet ;  he  did  not  know  where  to  be- 
gin, he  did  not  know  how  to  begin,  and  he  re- 
mained for  a  minute  after  she  had  desired  him 
to  commence  his  explanation  in  embarrassed 
silence. 

Believing  that  she  saw  her  opportunity  now, 
she  seized  it: 

"My  Lord,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  calm,  un- 
impaa-ioned  voice,  "  I  have  seen  of  late  an  al- 
teration in  your  manner  to  cie,  which  has  ra- 
ther displeased  me." 

He  turned  hia  eyes  sharply  upon  her  wilb 
amazement  in  them. 


10 


LOT  ; 


"  You  appear  to  me,"  she  continued,  in  the 
same  tone,  "  to  have  something  upou  your 
mind  which  oppresses  it — a  burden  from  which 
you  desire  to  release  yourself,  and  to  cast  it 
upon  some  person  who  may  not  be  thankful 
to  you  for  the  donation.  If  I  have  not  volun- 
teered to  receive  it,  it  is  because  I  detest  se- 
crets, and  have  no  wieh  to  share  any — not  even 
your3,  Lord  \Yestcnester — " 

"  Lady  Weatchester!"  lie  exclaimed,  in  an 
angry  tone. 

"Do  not  interrupt  me,  "VVestchester,  that  is 
not  the  act  of  a  gentleman,  and  I  am  right,  I 
believe,  in  the  opsion  which  I  entertain  that 
you  desire  to  be  esteemed  as  one,"  she  rejoin- 
ed, with  a  haughty  gesture.  "  I  say  that  I 
have  observed  an  alteration  in  your  manner 
toward  me,  my  Lord,  for  which  I  am  unable  to 
account." 

"  I  will  enlighten  you,  Madam,"  he  inter- 
poaed. 

"  Again,.  Sir,"  she  rejoined,  with  slightly 
contracted  brows. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  with  a 
gloomy  look,  remained  eilent. 

"  I  repeat,  my  Lord,"  she  continued,  resum- 
ing her  difinified,  yet  unconstrained  tone, 
"  that  I  cannot  account  for  the  change  I  have 
perceived  in  your  manner ;  and,  further,  it  is 
not  my  intention  to  trouble  myself  to  specu- 
late upon  the  matter,  but  to  leave  to  you  the 
satisfaction  of  elucidating  the  mystery.  What 
ever  it  may  be,  I  have  what  I  presume  to  be  a 
justifiable  suspicion  that  I  am  in  some  way 
closely  or  remotely,  connected  with  the  altera 
tion  in  your  demeanor,  and  your  desire  to 
speak  with  my  father,  Mr.  Plantagenet.  I, 
therefore,  confess  to  harboring  a  curiosity  to 
know  what  it  may  be,  and  I  am,  as  I  have  al- 
ready told  you,  here  to  seek  and  to  listen  to 
your  explanation." 

"  And  I,  Madam,  am  fully  prepared  to  give 
it  to  you,'.1  he  responded  quickly,  as  she,  for  a 
moment,  paused.  "  And,  Madam — " 

She  had  no  intention  of  permitting  him  to 
speak  at  any  length,  she  therefore  waved  her 
hand  to  arrest  his  speech,  and  then  she  sud- 
denly assumed  an  air  of  imperious,  haughty 
sternness,  a  determined  firmness  of  look  which 
had  much  that  was  menacing  in  it — and  not 
idle  menace  either.  The  expression  of  her 
eye,  as  it  rested,  glittering  like  a  diamond, 
upon  his,  startled  him. 

"  You  will  remember,  my  Lord,  ere  you  com- 
mence, and  while  you  are  speakiog,  who  I  am 
— who  I  was — before  I  consented  to  accept 
your  name.  If  you  are  proud  and  tenacious 
of  the  name  which  I  now  bear,  I  set  an  equal 
value  upon  the  name  I  inherited,  and  which  I 
bore  when  I  became  Lady  Westchester." 

A  strangely  bitter  smile  passed  over  his  sick- 
ly features  as  she  uttered  the  last  words ;  but 
though  iawardly  it  disturbed  her,  outwardly 
she  betrayed  no  sign  that  ehe  had  observed  it. 
She  continued : 

"  I,  therefore,  suggest  to  your  lordship,  that 
any  vague  observations — any  silly  surmises, 
the  weak  adoption  of  idle  reports,  which  may 


have  the  effect  of  indirectly  castirg  &  elur 
upon  the  name  which  I  honor,  and  which  I 
declare  to  be  irreproachable — will  be  at  once 
checked  by  me,  and  responded  to  ki  a  manner 
which,  however  offensive  it  may  prove  to  your 
lordahip,  I  consider  it  to  be  my  indefeasible 
right  to  have  recourse  to.  Now,  my  Lord, 
proceed,  for  I  find  these  preliminary  observa- 
tions tedious." 

Stung  by  her  haughty  scorn,  goaded  by  hia 
maddening  suspicions  and  surmises,  he  forgot 
his  intention  of  acting  and  speaking  as  a 
scarcely-animated  stone  statue,  but,  trembling 
with  excitement,  he  addressed  her  angrily  and 
nervously,  and  his  pale  face  became  flushed. 

She  perceived  that  he  had  lost  his  self-com- 
mand, and  she  resolved,  quietly,  that  he  should 
not  recover-it  if  she  could  prevent  it. 

"  Lady  Westchester,"  he  exclaimed,  trying 
to  moisten  his  parched  lips,  and  speaking  with 
difficulty  ;  "  in  observing  a  change  in  my  ap- 
pearance and  in  my  conduct  to  you,  your 
perceptions  have  not  been  at  fault.  Permit 
me  to  ask  you  if  it  has  occurred  to  you  to  in- 
quire of  yourself  whether,  as  there  has  been  an 
alteration  in  my  behavier  to  you,  you  yourself 
may  not  have  occasioned  it  ?" 

"  It  has  occurred,"  she  replied  quietly. 

"  And  what  response  did  it  meet  with  ?"  he 
inquired,  quickly. 

u  My  contemptuous  ecorn,"  she  replied, 
glancing  at  him  with  cold  disdain. 

lie  writhed. 

'•  You  brave  it  well,"  he  said,  between  hia 
teeth.  "  It  will  be  my  best  course  to  be  per- 
fectly plain  with  you." 

"  It  will,"  she  returned,  with  a  peculiarly 
significant  tone. 

He  drew  himself  up,  and,  after  two  futile  at- 
temps,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  intense  cs- 
citement  rendered  almost  indistinct.: 

"  YOH  are  acquainted  with  the  Earl  cf 
Brackleigh,  Madam  ?" 

"  So  I  am  with  some  other  noblemen  whom 
you  might  name,  my  Lord,"  she  returned,  with 
a  slight  laugh. 

"I  say,  Madam,  that  you  are  acquainted 
with  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  were  before 
your  marriage  with  me !" 

She  laughed  again — a  musical,  ringing 
laugh,  but  yet  so  icy  in  its  tone  it  made  him 
shiver. 

"  Is  that  a  crime?"  she  asked  with  apparent 
playfulness,  but,  in  reality,  with  biting  sar- 
casm. 

"  In  you,  Madam,  yes  1"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Indeed !"  she  replied,  slowly,  and  elevat- 
ing her  arched  eyebrows,  as  if  she  were 
amazed.  "  "Why  a  crime  in  me,  my  Lord  ?" 

"  Because  you  meet  him  DOW,  and  in  ee- 
cret !"  he  responded,  gutturally. 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly. 

"  Do  you  know  this  ?"  she  asked,  emphatic- 
ally 

"  I  have  the  best  authority  for  saving  that 
you  do,"  he  returned,  vehemently,  yet  evaa- 
Lvely. 

"  Produce  it,"  she  rejoined,  firmly. 


'  OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


11 


"  I  can,"  he  said  ;  "  but  at  present—" 

She  interrupted  him  by  a  burst  of  scornful 
laughter.  She  knew  he  could  have  neither 
authority  for,  nor  proof  of,  what  had  actually 
never  occurred,  save  once,  and  that  was  a 
merely  accidental  rencontre  which  she  did  not 
seek,  "would  have  avoided,  and  which  lasted 
but  a  few  minutes. 

"  You  are  jealous,  Westchester — really,  posi- 
tively, ridiculously  jealous!"  she  exclaimed, 
still  laughing  with  the  same  scornful  tone. 
"  For  shame  !  a  man  of  your  years  ought,  at 
least,  to  have  reached  the  point  of  common 
sense — and  of  discretion  I"  . 

He  stamped  his  foot  angrily. 

"  I  will  not,"  he  cried,  vehemently,  "  have 
the  name,  fame,  and  honor  of  my  house  sullied 
by  any  person,  breathing.  You,  Madam,  are 
my  wife — " 

'•  Stay !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  as  loud,  but 
eleirer  and  more  commanding  than  his  own  ; 
"  I  am  the  MARCHIOXESS  OF  WEST-CHESTER  !  Re- 
flect, my  Lord,  and  be  more  careful  and  more 
correct  in  your  selection  of  terms." 

He  staggered  back,  and  a  gh-astly  paleness 
spread  itself  over  his  face.  He  gasped  for 
breath. 

She  gazed  upon  him  lofsily  and  disdainful- 
ly. 

"  My  Lord,"  she  said,  in  tones  it  would  be 
impossible  to  describe,  save  that  they  were  of 
a  nature  to  make  him  cower  ;  "  before  you 
cast  your  eyes  upon  me,  you  were,  and  had 
been,  an  unmarried  man.  You  selected  me 
from  the  throng  of  women  upon  whom,  year 
after  year,  you  had  thrown  calculating  glances 
— as  you  would,  par  excmple,  a  horee  from  a 
troop,  or  a  deer  from  a  herd— for  the  beauty 
of  my  countenance,  the  symmetry  of  my  form, 
the  dignity  of  my  motions,  and  fsr,  withal — 
my  breed.  Disgusting  as  the  description  may 
sound  in  your  ears,  humiliating  as  it  rings  in 
mine,  it  is  a  just  one ;  you  chose  me  as  you 
would  an  animal  to  place  at  the  head  of  your 
stud.  I  was  a  creature  who  was  likely  to  wear 
becomingly  the  coronet  which  symbolizes  the 
elevation,  of  your  house,  and  to  carry  graceful- 
ly the  name  whose  greatest  merit,  perhaps  like 
that  cf  Adam's,  is  that  it  has  been  borne  for  a 
lengthened  period.  I  never  disguised  from 
myself  the  motives  which  governed  you  in  se- 
lecting me  for  your  Marchioness ;  and,  though 
I  coaie  of  a  race  older,  nobler,  and  one  which 
is  even  wealthier  than  your  own,  I  consented 
to  the  sacrifice  demanded  of  me — mark  me, 
my  Lord,  I  make  no  contradiction  of  terms ! 
— the  sacrifice  demanded  of  me,  because  I  de- 
sired to  have  the  coronet.  The  puerhase  and 
sale  were  completed.  I  have  worn,  and  I  still 
wear,  the  coronet ;  you  have  paraded  before 
the  world  your  ideal  of  a  Marchioness.  In 
this  our  bargain  has  been  faithfully  fulfilled. 
But,  my  Lord,  do  not  permit  yourself  to  fa'l 
into  an  error.  Pray,  during  our  further  dis- 
course, suffer  to  remain  unspoken  those  home- 
ly phrases,  '  husband  and  wife' — titles  which, 
as  you  must  be  surely  conscious,  do  not  prop- 
erly belong  either  to  you  or  to  me  1" 


There  are  some  matters  to  which  women  of 
delicate  imaginings  and  fine  susceptibilities 
will  unhesitatingly  refer,  to  which  men  who  do 
not  boast  of  refined  minds  could  not  allude 
without  diffidence,  if  not  a  blush.  This  may, 
perhaps,  be  a  solution  of  the  distinction  be- 
tween true  and  false  modesty.  A  woman 
knows  so  readily  what  should  be  spoken,  and 
what  left  unsaid.  It  is,  at  least,  certain,  that 
women  are  far  less  guilty  of  false  delicacy  than 
men. 

At  the  same  time,  men  only  can  judge  what 
could  have  been  the  feelings  of  th3  Marquis  of 
Westchester  on  hearing  thooe  remarkabie  sen- 
timents fall  from  the  lips  of  his  Marchioness. 
There  was  a  bitter,  stinging  taunt  implied, 
which  not  only  lowered  him  greatly  in  his  own 
estimation,  but  did  so  in  epite  of  a  keen  sense 
that  he  did  not  wholly  deserve  the  reproach. 
It  was  true  that  he  might  have  acted  different- 
ly, but  pride  and  delicacy  of  feeling  had  with- 
held him  from  pursuing  another  course.  He 
had  hoped  that  time  and  his  kindness  would 
have  wrought  a  favorable  issue ;  it  had 
brought  him  nothing  but  a  cold,  disdainful, 
insulting  taunt ;  aad,  from  the  heart  which 
was  to  have  been  adamant  to  even  the  silvery 
tone  of  her  voice,  it  wrung  a  groan. 

He  paced  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  con- 
vulsed with  emotion,  and  without  attempting 
to  disguise  the  intensity  of  the  suffering  he  ex- 
perienced. 

At  length,  maddened  by  the  thoughts  which 
whirled  successively  through  his  brain,  scorch- 
ing and  blistering  it  with  the  images  they 
conveyed,  he  turned  round,  and  advanced  up- 
on her  with  glaring  eyes,  and  foaming  at  the 
mouth  like  a  tiger. 

"  Woman  !"  he  said,  as  the  white  froth  bub- 
bled on  his  lips  ;  "  when  I  first  eaw  you,  I  be- 
lieved that  your — that  your — past  history — " 

She  turned  upon  him  like  lightning,  and, 
with  her  finger  pointed  menacingly  at  him, 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  clear,  Jfirm,  determined 
voice  : 

"Hold!  Beware  how  you  utter  ore  word 
derogatory  to  my  fame  or  name,  as  it  bloomed 
ere  I  knew  you.  Remember,  my  Lord,  our 
compact  when  you  besought  me  to  bestow  my 
hand  upon  you.  You  may  have  forgotten  it ; 
let  me  remind  you  of  it.  I  submitted  to  yosi 
a  condition,  that  as  it  was  not  my  intention  to 
extort  from  you  any  arriere  pcnsee,  so  I  should 
expect  that  you  wouid  not  attempt  to  exact 
even  one  from  me.  You  accepted  that  con- 
dition. I  have  kept  ray  part  of  the  compact ; 
yon  must  keep  yours.  With  what  faults  or 
follies  I  may  have  been  guilty  of  before  my 
marriage  to  you,  you  have  now  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  ;  it  is  too  late,  my  Lord.  You 
took  me  for  better  or  for  worse,  and  you  must 
adhere  to  your  bargain  !" 

"  But  woman — "  he  screeched. 

"  Marchioness  of  Weetchetter  !"  she  correct- 
ed, in  a  loud,  stern  voice.  "My  Lord,  you  be- 
stowed upon  me  that  title,  asd  you  shall  ad- 
dress me  by  it  If  you  fail  to  do  so,  I  will 
quit  your  presence,  and  you  shall  humble 


HAGAR  LOT 


yotirwlf  to  me  ere  I  will  condescend  to  see  you 
agam.  Let  me  add,  my  Lord,"  she  continued, 
with  Blow  but  intensely-earnest  emphasis, 
"  that  the  name  I  now  bear  is  as  dear  and  as 
sacred  to  me  as  to  you.  Its  irreproachable 
fame,  its  uneullied  honor,  its  spotless  integrity, 
and  its  elevated  rank  in  the  peerage  of  thia 
kingdom  have  been  as  carefully  studied,  as 
anxiously  preserved,  and  as  constsntly  upheld 
and  sustained  by  me  as  by  yourself.  From  the 
moment  I  received  the  right"— a  cold  thrill 
ran  through  her  nerves  as  she  uttered  the 
words,  though  she  did  not  betray  the  emotion 
— "to  bear  the  name, I  have  never  suffered  the 
breath  of  «*  defamer  to  fall  blightingly  upon  it. 
My  conduct  as  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester 
has  been  unimpeachable.  I  defy  contradiction 
— I  challenge  you  to  bring  before  me  the  high- 
est as  well  as  the  meanest  of  those  in  whose 
circles  we  have  mixed,  to  point  out  one  per- 
ceptible spot  in  my  conduct  which  is  justly 
entitled  to  censure  or  reproach.  You  are 
pleased  to  be  jealous — cf  what— of  whom? 
Jealousy  is  always  unjust,  my  Lord!  Who 
should  know  that  fact  so  well  as  a  woman  ? 
Search  for  my  character  in  the  world  in  which 
we  have  both  mixed  ;  you  will  find,  my  Lord, 
unsullied,  untarnished,  irreproachable,  as  it  al- 
ways has  been— as  it  will  be  my  care  to  main- 
tain it.  But  do  not  insult  me  by  paltry  asser- 
tions ;  by  statements  and  by  evidence  obtained 
from  disreputable  persons,  prowling  in  holes 
and  corners,  ready  to  sell  lies  to  every  credu- 
lous fool  who  eeeks  them — " 

"  But,  Madam!"  cried  the  Marquis,  half  be- 
wildered by  her  arguments, "  -when  irrefragable 
evidence — " 

"  Hear  me  out,"  she  interrupted.  "  Do  not 
degrade  me  by  miserable  insinuations  and  un- 
worthy suppositions  —  suspicions  infinitely 
more  derogatory  to  those  who  give  utterance 
to  them  than  those  who  are  compelled  to  listen 
to  them.  Do  not  do  this  ;  for  I  say  to  you, 
my  Lord  Marquis,  for  your  reflection,  that  if 
all  your  discoveries,  proofs,  witnesses,  are 
heaped  up  into  one  great  mound,  and  that  it 
enabled  you  to  bring  home  to  me  crimes  of 
the  blackest  dye — that  it  proved  me  to  be  the 
very  vilest  of  my  sex — it  would  result,  per- 
haps, in  my  downfall,  but  alio  in  your  sure 
disgrace,  the  blackening  of  your  name,  the 
emurching  of  that  reputation  which  you  have 
BO  long  maintained  unsullied  and  unstained." 

11  What !"  cried  the  Marquis,  with  sparkling 
eyes,  "  would  you  have  me  sit  down  tamely, 
and  endure — " 

"  An  untainted  name,  certainly,"  she  inter- 
posed. "Understand  me,  my  Lord  :  I  do  not 
know,  nor  do  I  care,  what  may  be  the  nature 
of  the  aspersions  of  my  fame  to  which,  as  yet, 
you  have  only  alluded.  I  scorn  them — I  re- 
gard them  with  a  contempt  so  supreme,  that  I 
will  not  consent  to  hear  them.  I  regret  that 
you  should  have  been  weak  enough  to  listen 
even  to  that  which  might  most  have  resembled 
truth.  Ifc  is  well,  my  Lord,  that  we  should 
cleanly  understand  each  other,  and  now.  You 
ought  not  to — I  do  not- — disguise  from  your- 


self the  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  each 
other.  One  coronet  crowns  the  head  of  both. 
Mutually  we  have  to  support  its  oignity  «id 
its  Lonor.  Let  us  do  it.  The  world  has  be- 
lieved, still  believes,  that  we  do.  Are  you 
anxious  to  undeceive  it,  and  to  raise  jour 
standard  with  a  black  bar  across  your  coat  of 
arms.  Be  advised,  my  Lord  ;  the  past  cannot 
be  recalled  nor  redeemed.  Bewaie  how  you 
proceed  to  my  father  to  prefer  any  complaint 
which  shall  even  impinge  upon  noy  purity  ;  he 
will  strike  you  with  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
the  cheek,  brand  you  liar  and  coward,  and,  old 
as  he  is,  endeavor  with  his  sword  to  stamp  you 
as  one — as  I  would,  my  Lord,  were  I  in  his 
place !" 

"  Death !"  cried  the  Marquis,  furiously. 

She  waved  her  hand  to  repress  the  observa- 
tions he  was  about  to  make,  and  continued  : 

"  As  I  would,  my  Lord,  were  I  in  his  place, 
even  though  you  brought  the  proofs  of  your 
dishonor  in  your  bands.  And  wherefore  ?  Be- 
cause your  disclosures,  while  they  would  not 
repair  the  wrong  done,  would  bring  down 
shame  and  disgrace  upon  the  innocent,  even 
more  terribly  than  upon  the  guilty,  I  corn- 
ice'nd  this  to  your  attention.  I  do  not,  in  what 
I  have  eaid,  intend,  even  by  implication,  to 
place  myself  in  a  false  position  in  your  ejes. 
I  repeat  that  nsy  honor  is  teyord  the  reach  01 
defamere,  and  I  regard  with  unutterable  sec rn 
any  and  every  attempt  which  may  be  ncade  by 
fools  or  knaves  to  sully  it,  even  though  you, 
icy  Lord,  head  the  noble  band.  Ore  word  more, 
and  I  have  done.  Although  I  refuse  in  justice 
to  myself,  to  listen  to  your  ignoble  enceavors 
to  destroy  me,  and  to  prove  yourself  to  be — 
that  which  it  is  simply  absurd  to  suppose  that 
you  could  be  by  me — 5i>jured,  I  will  revert  to 
the  name  of  one  individual,  wh<m  you  have 
been  pleased  to  connect  with  my  own — the 
Earl  of  Brsckleigh.  It  matters  rot  what  I 
know  of  that  individual,  or  when  that  kt owl- 
edge  was  acquired,  let  it  suffice  that  it  wee  pre- 
vious to  my  marriage  with  you,  and  that  then, 
and  now,  and  forever,  I  entertain  feelings  of 
contempt  for  him  which  cannot  be  surpassed, 
nor  can  ever  be  weakfced." 

"But,"  cried  the  Marquis,  eagerly,  "it  is 
precisely  before  our  marriage — " 

"  With  which  yon  have  nothing  to  do,"  in- 
terposed the  Marchioness,  sternly.  "  Let  me 
not  have  to  repeat  that  I  wish  te  see  the  man 
no  more.  I  shall  mfcke  it  my  endeavor  to  pre- 
vent the  chance  arising  of  ever  nseeting  him 
more.  And  now,  nay  Lord,  I  have  brought  our 
interview  to  a  close.  All  that  I  could  have 
expected  from  it  has  taken  place.  Whatever 
may  have  been  your  anticipations,  yeu  must 
be  content  with  the  result,  and  take  it  as  it  is. 
We  now,  and  at  this  moment,  part  forever,  or 
resume  our  relations  as  they  have  been,  with- 
out, however,  one  allusion  being  made  at  any 
time  to  what  has  just  passed  between  us.  Ii 
it  is  your  will  that  we  shall  part  forever,  I 
shall  know  it  by  receiving  from  you  no  com- 
munication between  my  departure  from  this 
room  and  an  hour  hence.  If,  on  the  contrary. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


13 


you  are  content  to  let  the  world  maintain  its 
inflated  sense  of  youc  untarnished  dignity,  you 
will  send  to  me,  ere  the  expiration  of  aa  hour, 
a  note,  which  will  contain  only  the  words:  'I 
assent '  I  shall  follow  the  receipt  of  that  note 
by  ordering  preparations  to  be  seeretly  made 
— you  will  not,  my  Lord,  objact,  I  know,  (o 
that  part  of  the  arrangement; — to  proceed 
abroad,  say  Rome,  where  we  can  make  a  stay 
for  at  least  one,  perhaps  two  years.  Tae  term 
will  depend  upon  your  Lordship,  and — a — " 

She  hesitated ;  a  flash  of  color  went  across 
her  face,  disappeared  instantly,  aad  left  her 
deathly  pale. 

"  What  ?"  he  inquired  curiously,  as  ehe 
paused. 

Her  voice  faltered. 

"  The  duration  of  one  of  our  lives,"  ehe  added. 
"  In  such  case,  the  survivor  would  natu  'ally 
return  to  England.  Lord  Westchester,  I  leave 
the  decision  in  your  hands.  Do  not  complain 
if,  in  making  your  election,  you  should  err,  and 
your  mistake  should  prove  fatal.  You,  and 
you  alone,  will  be  to  blame." 

She  bowed  stiffly  and  grandly  to  him,  and 
glided  from  the  room. 

He  made  a  movement  to  stay  her,  but  she 
was  gone. 

Bewildered,  excited,  astounded,  overwhelm- 
ed by  the  mastery  over  him,  which  from  the 
first  she  had  seized,  and  to  the  last  maintained, 
he  gave  way  to  an  ebullition  of  frantic  emo- 
tion,  and  flung  himself  upon  the  ground,  with 
all  the  wildness  and  frenzy  of  a  maniac. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

"His business  was  to  pump  and  wheedle, 
And  men  with  their  own  keys  unriddle , 
To  make  men  to  thetnsslves  give  answers, 
For  which  they  pay  the  aecromancers 
To  fetch  and  carry  intellingence 
Of  whom,  and  what,  and  wh        andwaenca, 
And  all  discoveries  disperse. 

So  "Whachum  beat  his  dirty  brains 

To  advance  his  master's  fame  and  gains." 

— BUTLER. 

The  fever  which  attacked  Floret  was  of  th« 
typhoid  character,  was  exceedingly  fierce  and 
rapid  in  its  progress,  exhibited  the  most  dan- 
gerous symptoms,  "and  threatened  to  prove 
fatal ;  indeed,  the  physician,  whose  experience 
and  skill  in  such  cases  were  of  no  common  de- 
gree, held  out  but  the  faintest  hopes  of  her 
recovery. 

Everything  was  against  her;  her  organiza- 
tion was  delicate,  her  mind  had  been  weakened 
by  long-indulged  secret  repinings  at  her 
equivocal  condition  ;  her  frame,  too,  had  been 
enfeebled  by  her  hard  -way  of  life  ;  and  the 
seeds  of  the  burning  fever  which  now  hugged 
her  in  its  scorching  embrace,  sown  some 
months  back,  had  been  slowly,  but  surely,  un- 
dermining her  strengch.  She  lay  wholly 
utterly  prostrate— exhausted,  destitute  of  the 
power  of  moving— a  poor,  little,  weak,  tender 
feather,  whirled,  powerlessly  and  helplessly,  in 
the  hot  blast  of  fever.  There  was  no  arresting, 
no  stifling,  no  stopping  it.  It  was  one  of  those 
dw«as«a  which  no  medicine  yet  discovered  has 


succeeded  in  making  succumb  to  its  curative 
properties.  It  would  burn  itself  out,  and  it 
w^ia  a  question  whether  it  would  not  burn  the 
child's  life  out  as  well. 

All  that  could  be  done  for  her  lay  in  the  few 
simple  rules  to  be  observed  in  fevers — the 
semi-darkened  room— airy,  well  ventilated, 
sweet,  and  cool— diet  but  little  stronger  than 
water,  and  watching,  careful,  constant,  gentle, 
and  unflagging  watching. 

Floret  had  all  this. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  *n  whose  breast 
Revenge  had  erected  a  throne,  was  intensely 
anxious  that  her  little  charge  shonld  not  die  ; 
she,  therefore,  secured  to  her,  during  her  ill 
ness,  all  the  aids  calculated  to  save  her  life 
which  wealth  could  command. 

She  also  readily  consented  to  Susan  Atten's 
entreaty  to  be  allowed  to  be  Floret's  nurse, 
and  did  every  thing  which  lay  within  her 
power,  not  only  to  lighten  the.  violence  of 
the  malady,  but  to  provent  its  proving  fatal. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  coming  and 
going  of  the  Doctor,  the  injunctions  which  the 
servants  received  to  go  about  the  house  noise- 
lessly, and  the  almost  constant  confinement  of 
the  Oountess  of  Brackleigb.  to  her  chamber, 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  Earl,  and  he  sought 
from  IS" at  a  solution  of  tne  mystery. 

Toat  fuctionary  had  prepared  a  note-book 
for  the  Earl,  filled  with  lies,  but  of  such  a 
character  as  not  to  throw  any  light  upon 
the  jealous  suspicions  which  his  master  had 
so  absurdly  formed,  nor,  indeed,  to  cast, 
even  by  insinuation,  any  slur  against  the  fair 
reputation  of  ehe  Countess.  Nat  was  afraid  to 
attempt  to  do  anything  of  the  kind  ;  he  was, 
in  reality,  too  cunning.  He  was  quite  alive  to 
the  fact  that  the  Countess  had  got  him  fast 
in  her  power,  that  she  Had  extorted  his  se- 
cret from  him,  and  that  she  had  bribed  him 
to  give  ner  further  iniormation  on  certain 
matters  with  which  he  was  likely  to  become 
acquainted.  He  knew  that  he  must,  for  his 
own  safety  and  advantage,  keep  the  Earl  and 
his  wife  apart  as  widely  as  he  could;  he, 
therefore,  arranged  a  plan  by  which  he  "hoped 
to  keep  the  Earl's  suspicions  alive,  and  yet 
to  make  him  believe  that  the  time  was  not 
close  enough  at  hand  to  make  a  demonstra- 
tion, because  the  proofs  upon  which  such  an 
outbreak  must  be  based  were  not  yet  within 
his  reach,  although  they  might  soon  be.  In 
this  scheme  he  might  have  succeeded,  but 
for  the  sudden  appearance  and  the  enigmatical 
movements  of  the  physician  backward  and 
forward  in  the  house,  without  any  one  but 
those  actually  in  the  Countess's  private 
rooms  knowing  wherefore. 

Tne  Earl  was  aware  that  he  might  be  able 
to  arrive  at  the  truth,  or  rear  it,  by  calling 
upon  the  physician,  and  simply  demanding 
from  him  an  explanation  of  the  objects  of  his 
visits  to-^he  Brackleigh  mansion ;  but  pride  for- 
bade him.  Ic  was  just  possible  that  he  might 
be  informed  that  one  of  the  Countess's  maids 
was  suffering  from  an  attack  of  purple  rash,  or 
a  sp-ained  ankle,  and  that  was  a  kind  of  ridi* 


HAGAR  LOT 


culus  mius  he  was  anxious  to  avoid.  It  was 
open  to  him  to  directly  question  the  Countess; 
but  he  had  somewhat  Biirewd  misgivings  re- 
specting the  manner  in  which  she  would  re- 
ceive his  inttrragatories,  and  the  character  of 
the  replies  she  would  probably  vouchsafe  hiw. 
He,  therefore,  ultimately  decided  to  set  Nat  to 
ascertain,  if  possible,  who  it  was  that  was  the 
object  at  once  of  the  physician's  professional 
attention  and  the  solicitude  of  the  Countess. 

Nat  found  his  position,  as  ft  living  pendulum, 
oscillating  between  the  Countess  and  the  Earl, 
the  reverse  of  agreeable  or  comfortable.  He 
was  not  at  all  sanguine  that,  if  he  tried  his 
best  to  unravel  what  the  Countess  was  evident- 
ly anxious  should  remain  a  secret,  he  should 
eucc-eed ;  and  was  quite  sure  thut  the  Earl 
would  not  remain  placid  or  contented  under 
the  repeated  asseverations  which  he  foreaaw  he 
should  have  to  make,  that  he  was  unable  to 
discover  anything  more  than  the  Earl  was  al- 
ready acquainted  with. 

Assuming,  however,  that  his  efforts  to  un- 
fold the  mystery  were-crowned  with  success, 
and  he  revealed  to  the*  Earl  the  result  of  his 
discoveries,  it  would  not  be  possible  to  keep 
from  the  Countess  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
been  the  spy  and  the  informer— and  what  then  ? 
He  felt  that  he  would  rather  brave  the  wrath 
of  the  Earl  than  the  vengeful  anger  of  the 
Crmntees  ;  he,  therefore,  while  appearing  to 
follow  out  closely  the  instructions  of  the  Earl, 
did  so  in  a  very  mild  form,  and  contented  him- 
self by  picking,  up  a  few  crumbs,  instead  of 
tryins  te  secure  the  whole  loaf. 

However,  in  great  establishments  the  means 
t>f  communication  are  so  varied,  and  yet  the 
links  are  so  directly  in  contact  with  each 
other,  that  it  is  ecarcely  possible  to  prevent 
any  secrets  having  such  proportions  as  that  of 
the  Countess's  possession  of  Floret,  although 
Bhe  was  closely  concealed  in  her  chamber,  from 
Boon  becoming  kaown  and  whispered  over  the 
liousehofd.  It  is  but  too  commenly  the  case 
that  matters  which  husband  and  wife,  or  either, 
believe  to  be  securely  locked  up  in  their  own 
breasts,  are  known  to  and  talked  about  by 
their  servants ;  and,  therefore,  although  the 
Dountesa  might  have  been  able  to  have  kept 
unknown  for  a  time  the  fact  of  Floret's  being 
secreted  in  her  private  apartmefit,  to  which  on 
one  but  herself  and  confidential  maid,  Subtle, 
had  aceess,  it  was  wholly  impossible  to  main- 
tain that  secret  when,  on  the  child  being  at- 
tacked by  illness,  a  doctor  had  to  pass  in  and 
©ut  of  the  house,  and  medicines  to  arrive  and 
be  delivered  for  the  Countess,  who  was  moving 
about  as  usual,  and  who,  though  rather  care- 
worn and  pale  in  countenance,  was  yet  more 
vigorous  and  stern  in  her  daily  actions  than 
ever. 

So  Nat  suddenly  found  a  "  horrid  whisper" 
running  among  tha  men  servants,  to  the  effect 
that  there  was  "  somebody"  concealed  in  the 
Countess's  chamber ;  and,  being  himself  cu- 
rious to  know  who  that  somebody  was,  as  the 
knowledge  might  bring  to  bis  exchequer  more 
pf  those  golden  reasons  for  rendering  the  gia- 


palace  and  the  orange  sash  a  certainty,  he  cast 
about  among  the  lavender- plush  gentry,  who 
engaged  the  Earl  as  their  master,  with  the  ob- 
ject of  endeavoring  to  find  one  among  them 
who  knew  the  most  of  the  matter,  and  to  quiet- 
ly draw  off  that  knowledge  in  the  most  skrllful 
way. 

He  was  not  long  in  discovering  the  person 
whom  he  sought.  It  oceurred  to  him  that  the 
footman,  who  mostly  attended  the  Countess 
when  she  went  out  in  her  carriage  for  a  drive, 
was  a  likely  person  to  have  an  inkling  of  the 
exoteric  motives  which  influenced  her  exoteric 
movements ;  .he.  therefore,  one  morning,  on 
finding  that  the  Earl  would  not  require  his 
services,  nor  the  Countees  the  attendancejof  the 
individual  upon  whom  he  had  fixed  his  eye, 
affected  to  meet  the  latter  casually,  and,  after 
a  brief  greeting,  remarked,  bypothetically, 
that  •*  rum  an'  srub"  was  a  fine  thing  for  the 
"  stummick"  on  "  drizzly  mornin's".  As  it 
happened  that  a  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  his 
fellow- servant  drew  up  one  corner  of  bis  mouth, 
and  closed  the  eye  nearest  to  it.  Whereupon, 
Nat  remarked : 

"  A  vink's  as  good  as  an  'hodd  to  a  blind 

'OSS." 

And  he  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  left  shoul- 
der, which  his  companion  in  lavender  inter- 
preted as  meaning  that  in  an  adjoining  street 
stood  a  tavern,  where  "rum  an'  erub"  as  a 
mixture  was  to  be  met  with.  He  thereupon 
again  closed  hie  right  eye  and  drew  up  the 
rigbt  corner  of  his  mouth  simultaneously. 

"Within  two  minutes  after  these  expressive 
eigns  had  been  interchanged,  the  two  individu- 
als made  their  appearance  in  the  same  "  pub- 
lic" by  different  doors  ;  and  Nat  requested  to 
be  favored  with  a  quartern  of  the  beverage 
which  he  considered  so  beneficial  to  his  inter- 
nal economy  on  damp  mornings,  and  with  two 
half-quartern  glasses.  He  filled  them  both  to 
the  brim,  and,  handing  one  to  his  companion, 
he  drank  to  their  better  acquaintance.  The 
Countees'  footman  smacked  his  lips  after  hav- 
ing swallowed  the  contents  of  his  glaes,  and  he 
had  permitted  its  fragran ce  to  per  meate  through 
his  fpalate  to  his  nostrils ;  then  he  warmly 
expressed  bis  admiration  of  the  specific,  and 
insisted  that  the  two  glaeses  ehould  be  refilled 
at  his  expense. 

Nat  quietly  incited  him  to  continue  bis  liba- 
tions, and — to  parody  the  words  of  a  poet  who 
never  obtained  the  laureate's  crown  of  laurels, 
with  its  attendant  annual  of  filthy  lucre 

Oft  the  replenished  goblet  did  he  drain, 
And  drank  and  sipped,  and  sipped  and  drank  again ; 
Such  was  *he  very  action — the  very  action  such. — 
Until  at  lengtk  he  took  a  drop  too  much." 

During  his  progress  from  sobriety  to  maudlin 
inebriety,  Nat  contrived  to  extract  from  him 
all  that  he  was  able  to  communicate.     It  was 
not  much,  but  enough  to  let  him  know  that  the 
|  somebody  so   carefully  concealed  within  his 
'  lady's  chamber  was  a  child  whom  she  had  one 
morning  taken  up  in  her  carriage,  in  a  fainting 
condition,  in  the -neighborhood  of  Knights- 
bridge. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


15 


As,  soon  after  tins  revelation,  he  began  to 
display  a  tendency  to  tears,  and  an  indisposi- 
tion to  sustain  himself  erect,  Nat  thought  it 
advisable  to  coaduct  him  back  to  the  mansion. 
Wnen  he  reaahed  it,  he  found  a  difficulty ^in 
disposing  of  his  companion  ;  for  the  operation 
of  the  liquor  had  been,  though  insidious,  rapid. 
Although  unable  to  stand,  the  latter  declared 
himself  anxioua  for  a  frolic,  and  in  the  same 
breath  suggested  a  visit  to  a  cemetery ;  he  in- 
stated on  chanting  the  chorus  of  "  Here's  a 
Health  to  all  good  lasses",  but  moaned  forth,, 
in  melancholy  tones,  "All  in  the  'Downs!" 

As  this  description  of  behavior  was  calcu- 
late! to  occasion  a  scandal  in  the  household,  in 
which  he  should  have  to  bear  the  brunt,  Nat 
contrived  to  snuggle  this  "  sprig  of  laweader" 
as  he  termed  it,  into  hi3  own  room,  aad  to 
place  him  on  his  bed,  id  the  hope  that  within 
an  hour  or  two  he  would  be  able  to  sleep  oif 
the  effects  of  his  potations. 

Hiving  succeeded  in  calming  his  hilarious 
proclivities,  ani  in  soothing  his  succeeding 
lachrymose  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  de- 
parted '•  haunt  Lidyer",  Nat  lulled  him  off  to 
sleep,  by  pretending  to  share  hi s^  anguish  at 
his  bereavement,  and  to  mingle  his  tears  with 
"  his'n". 

As  with  emotions  of  lively  satisfaction,  he 
heard  the  nasal  trumpet  of  the  "aprig  of  la- 
wender"  announce  that  he  had  crossed  the 
boundary  of  wakefulness  into  the  land  of 
dreams,  he  resolved  to  go  through  the  process 
of  ablution,  in  order  to  remove  from  his  per- 
sonal appearance  all  traces  of  the  state  of 
semi  fuddle  in  which  he  felt  himself  to  be,  for, 
in  order  to  induce  his  companion  to  drink,  he 
had  partaken  freely  himself  t»f  the  baverage  htr 
had  recommended,  and  for  which  he  Had  a 
sneaking  kindness. 

As  he  turned  to  quit  the  bedside,  he  en- 
coantered  his  master,  the  Eirl  of  Brackleigh. 

He  was  standing  near  to  the  parcly-openei 
door,  and  had  evidently  been  watching  the 
latter  part  of  Nat's  proceedings  with  some- 
thing more  than  a  feeling  of  curiosity. 

Nat  shrunk  from  the  fierce  glare  of  his  eye, 
and  bent  his  head  very  much  with  the  aspect 
of  a  cur  who  anticipates  an  unfriendly  visit 
from  a  boot. 

The  Eirl  turning  a  penetrating  glance  on 
Nat's  greasy,  half-dirty  face,  his  pink,  flashed 
cheeks,  and  his  diminished,  twinkling  eyes, 
said,  in  alow,  short,  stern  voice  : 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  drunken 
orgie  ?" 

Nat[tried  to  moisten  his  lips  with  his  furred 
tongue,  and  a  thought  passed  through  his 
mind,  registering  a  doubt  whether  he  would 
be  able  to  speak  clearly  or  not.  Before  he 
could  settle  the  point  with  himself,  the  Earl 
repeated  his  question  with  angry  vehemence, 
and  there  was  such  a  savage  ferocity  in  his 
eyes,  that  the  expression  recalled  to  Nat's 
memory  his  promise  to  strangle  him  if  he 
ehoAild  discover  at  any  time  that  he  had  proved 
faithless  to  him. 
He  was  seized  with  a  panic,  and  without 


stopping  to  reflect  whether  he  could  articulate 
clearly  or  not,  he  made  a  clean  breast  of  the 
matter.  He  told  the  Earl  of  the  stratagem  he 
had  employed  to  ascertain  from  Lady  Brack- 
leigh's  footman  if  he  knew  whether  any  indi- 
vidual was  concealed  in  her  ladyship's  apart- 
ment or  not,  and  if  any  person,  who  that  per- 
son was,  and  he  rela.ed  the  success  he  had 
met  with. 

The  Earl,  as  Nat  concluded,  looked  petrified 
with  astonishment. 

4iA  child,"  he  muttered;  "a  child!  this 
revelation  only  increases  the  mystery.  What 
child  is  this—  whote  child  ?  Good  God !  She 
spoke  of  Having  Her  secret  in  this  house." 

His  cheek  blanched,  cold  perspiration  stood 
in  thick  beads  uj>on  his  foreheads,  he  gasped 
for  breath,  for  he  felt  as  if  he  should  suffocate. 

He  at  once  believed  thafc  he  was  being 
fouajht  with  his  own  weapons. 

He  ground  his  teeth  together,  and  clenched 
his  hands. 

"  Death  and  hell!"  he  murmured,  between 
his  grating  teeth  ;  "it  f^nnot  be  her  child!" 

He  turned  fiercely  to  Nat,  and  clatched 
him  tightly  by  the  arm. 

"Have  you  seen  this  child?"  he  asked, 
with  eyes  almost  starting  out  of  their  sockets. 

"  No,"  returned  Nat,  rapidly  ;  '•  no,  my 
Lord,  I  never  seed  nothick  on  it.  I  only 
heerd  on  it  from — " 

Ha  jerked  hia  thumb  over  his  left  shoulder 
toward  the  bed,  on  which  he  had  placed  the 
"sprig  ot  lawender". 

The  Eirl  gnawed  his  knuckles  nervously, 
and  presently  added : 

"  What  iii  the  age  of  the— the  imp  ?" 

"  The  wb&o,  my  Lord?"  asked  Nat,  looking 
at  him  inquiringly. 

"  The  child  ;  how  old  is  it  ?"  returned  the 
Earl,  impatiently. 

'•  I  shol'  say  'bout — 'bout — twel'  year — 
abou'  twel'  year  ol' — she  coul't  be  a  day  oiler, 
I  shol'  say,"  remarked  a  very  drunken  voice 
behind  them. 

They  both  turned  hastily,  and  beheld  Lady 
Brackleigh's  footman,  upon  his  hands  and 
knees  on  the  bed,  with  white  face,  very  disor- 
dered hair  and  ueckcloib,  and  bleared  eyes, 
staring  directly  at  thtm. 

Ha  was  balancing  himself  with  much  diffi- 
culty, and  as  he  promised  each  instant  ..to 
shoot  forward  on  to  the  ground  head  first,  'Nat 
ran  up  to  him  and  forced  him  back  on  the 
bed. 

Nat  turned  hi?  face  round  to  the  Eir!  as  if 
to  aek  for  instructions.  The  Earl's  brows  were 
knitted,  and  he  appeared  much  excited. 

He  approached  "Nat,  and,  in  an  undertone,, 
said  to  him : 

"  Does  the  filthy  scoundrel  mean  ta  say 
that  the  child  is  a  girl  about  twelve  years 
old  ?" 

Nat  nodded  affirmatively,  in  reply. 

The  Earl  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  Ms 
face  became  of  a  ghastly,  livid  hue. 

"  Can  I  have  been  tricked  ?"  he  soliloquiz- 
ed, mentally.  "  Can  htr  marriage  with  mg 


if' 


HAGAK  LOT 


have  been  an  affair  of  convenience,  in  a  eenee  I 
could  never  have  dreamed  of?  My  braia  is  in 
a  flame.  I  must  have — 1  will  wring  an  explan- 
ation from  her !  Furies !  if  for  tiich  a  crea- 
ture as  this  deed  will  make  her,  I  should  have 
eaerificed  Constance — I — t  will  shoot  her — 
myseJf !  Curses  !  what  a  desperate  revenge  I 
will  have!1' 

The  guilty  always  believe  those  whom  they 
tnay  hare  some  reason  to  suspect  to  be  as 
guilty  as  themselves.  It  is  enough  for  them 
if  they  harbcr  ouiy  a  suspicion  against  the  in- 
nocent, to  lorce  a  conviction  at  once  that  they 
are— they  must  be  guilty. 

The  Earl  of  Bracklcigh  no  sooner  conceived 
that  he  had  reason  to  suspect  L'idy  Brack- 
leigh, than  he  believed  at  once  the  worst  he 
could  imagine. 

He  paced  the  room  with  disordered  step, 
with  the  excitement  and  the  gestures  of  a  ma- 
niac. Nat  felt  alarmed,  and  his  fears  were  not 
ullayed  when  the  Earl,  approaching  him,  gazed 
upon  him  with  eyes  which  glittered  like  those 
of  a  tiger. 

He  pointed  to  the*  drunken  footman,  and. 
eaid : 

"Inquire  of  that  beast  whether,  as  I  sup- 
pose, it  is  the  newly-acknowledged  brat  who 
is  ill,  and  if  so,  wha»;  is  the  nature  of  the  ill 
ness." 

Nat  put  the  question  to  the  footman,  who  re- 
plied, inarticulately—" 

"Tyf  fever— tyf  fever,  ver  bad— all  k^sh  it 
— go  through  th'  'ouse — all  'ouse  die — all  die. 
I  shall  foil'  m'  poor  haunt  Lidyer  to  th'  col' 
chur' yard.  Oh  I  oh!  wow!  wow!  wow!" 

Nat  crammed  a  pillow  into  his  mouth,  for 
he  saw  the  Earl  start  and  lc.ok  aghast. 

The  Earl  was  a  man  who  had  a  horror  of  all 
infectious  diseases.  He  had  ah  impression 
that  he  was  extremely  susceptible  to  disease, 
although  during  his  life  he  had  been  singular- 
ly tree  from  attacks  of  illness  ;  but  that  fact  he 
attributed  to  the  precautions  which  he  had  al- 
ways taken.  When,  therefore,  he  learned  that 
he  was.  in  a  house  in  which  typhus  fever 
bad  for  some  days  been  rampant,  he  all  but 
fainted. 

Self  having  invariably  beeia  his  rule  of  life, 
he,  in  an  instant,  forgot  almost  everything 
which  just  before  had  nearly  driven  him  delir 
jous,  and  he  thought  only  of  the  possibility  of 
the  p.<eeds  of  the  fever  being  already  sown  in 
his  frame,  and  that  they  might  shortly  de- 
velop themselves,  and  striking  him  down, 
prove  fatal  to  him. 

Most  men,  with  such  a  terrible  suspicion 
pressing  upon  their  brain  as  he  had  upon  his, 
would  have  dared  the  contamination  of  the 
fever,  and  have  forced  their  wav  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  wife  and  the  child.  His  only  idea 
was,  to  fly  instantly  from  the  spot,  so  that  he 
should  cot  be  compelled  to  breathe  the  same 
atmosphere,  and  when  at  a  distance,  seek  for 
an  explanation  by  letter,  although  he  would 
not  now  receive  a  written  communication  from 
his  wife  until  it  had  been  fumigated. 

This  weakness  ef  the  Larl  is   one  by  no 


means  uncommon,  but  the  fact  does  not  rescue 
it  from  being  contemptible, 
lie  turned  to  Nat,  and  said  : 
"  Have  you  been  near  the  eick  chamber  ?' 
Nat  intended  to  have  replied  in  the  affirma- 
j  tive,  but  confused  by  the  struggles  he  had  to 
make  to  keep  the  footman  quiet  under  the  pil- 
low, for  he  objected  to  being  stifled,  and  alarm- 
ed by  the  appalling   expression  on  the  Earl'a 
face,  he  shook  his  head. 

"Then!"  cried  the  Earl,  excitedly;  "in- 
stantly pack  up  your  clothes,  and  prepare  to 
accompany  me  for  a  month's  travel  on  the 
Continent— I  do  not  know  where  yet." 

He  hastened  from  the  chamber  ns  he  con- 
cluded, end  Nat,  immediately  be  disappeared, 
promptly  removed  the  "  eprig  of  Jawender" 
from  bis  bed,  as  he  entertained  a  strong  ;m- 
preseion  that  the  eprig  would  almcst  immedi- 
ately prove  very  ill. 

He  guided  him  to  the  corridor,  end  then  in- 
troduced him  to  the  e€rvant'e  staircase,  which, 
being  well-shaped  and  narrow,  gave  Ue  "eprig" 
an  opportunity  of  proving  ihefacilis.dfccnsus. 
Nat  heard  him  elide  and  bunip,  and  roll  and 
thump  down  three  flights  of  etairs,  acd  being 
mentally  convinced  that  he  would  reach  the 
bottom,  he  returned  to  his  room,  hastily  wash- 
ed himself,  and  having  completed  his  toilet,  he 
packed  his  clothes.  Before  he  had  finished, 
be  received  a  summons  from  the  Ear),  and 
within  two  hours  eubeequently  was  with  the 
latter  aLd  his  \alet  on  the  way  to  Brighton. 

The  fresh  sea-air  prevailing  there,  the  Earl 
trusted  would  prove  a  specific  for  the  typhus 
fever,  even  supposing  that  he  had  already  be- 
come slightly  infected  by  it. 

Lady  Brackleigh  was  informed  by  the  Earl 
himself  of  his  departure  from  London,  but  not 
until  he  had  quitted  it,  and  then  he  did  so  in  a 
brief  note.  He  declined  to'tell  her  in  what  di- 
rection he  had  gone.  She  had  thought  proper, 
be  remicded  her,  to  bring  an  infectious  fever 
into  his  hovee  ;  and  so  long  as  tkere  was  a  pos- 
sibility of  its  being  communicated  to  him, 
even  through  her  epistles  to  him,  he  begged 
to  be  excused  uamifg  his  whereabouts.  He 
had  no  doubt  they  should  meet  sgain  as  soon 
as  she  wsuld  be  likely  to  desire  it ;  but  he 
trusted  that  the  event  would  not  take  place 
until  the  disease  bad  not  otly  been  extirpated 
from  Brackleigh  Mansion,  but  that  the  possi- 
bility of  conveying  the  taint  in  her  garmente 
was  hkewiee  entirely  removed. 

Lady  Brackleigh  ftlt  bitterly  wounded  by 
this  insulting  communication.  It.  however, 
served  to  keep  her  resentment  p.live,  and  to 
make  her  desire  for  vengeance  yet  stronger  and 
fiercer  than  ever. 

Sbe  made  no  observation  respecting  the 
Earl's  sudden  departure ;  she  sent  no  com- 
plaining letter  to  her  fa.ther ;  she  did  np.t  make 
her  attached  young  friend,  Lady  Adela  Tre- 
vor, a  confidant  of  her  griefs  or  troubles,  even 
to  confide  t,o  her  the  cold- blooded  manner  in 
which  the  Earl  in  this  last  act  had  treated  her. 
She  remained  passive,  seemingly  emotion- 
less, save  that  she  bestowed  the  most  anxious 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


if 


and  watchful  care  on  poor  little  Floret.  Not 
alone  because  ehe  wished  to  preserve  her  life, 
that  she  might  prove  the  instrument  of  her  re- 
venge, but  because  there  was  something  BO 
touching  in  the  child's  helpless  and  seeming 
friendless  condition,  that  she  could  not  bear 
that  it  should  die  thus. 

In  eo  fragile  a  frame,  a  fever  fierce  as  tbat 
which  had  attacked  Floret  was  not  long  in 
reacting  its  height,  and  the  crisis  arrived  one 
evening  while  the  physician  was  preeent. 

It  waa  an  affecting  scene,  that  moment  when 
the  poor  little  creature's  life  was  oscillating 
upon  the  confines  of  existence  aad  death. 

She  lay  apparently  bereft  of  life  already. 
The  phy&icuvn,  with  his  watch  in  hia  hand,  held 
her  wrist,  and  couated  the  beatings  of  her 
pulae,  so  feeble  in  its  vibrations,  that  only  hia 
experienced  fingers  could  have  told  that  it 
beat  at  all.  Tae  Countess  of  B  -ackiei^h  bent 
over  the  waxen  face  of  the  child,  watchiag  her 
half- parted  lips  with  an  intensity  of  anxisty 
which  cannot  be  described.  Sasan  At'eo 
crouched  down  by  the  bedside,  convulsed  with 
grief,  her  face  buried  in  the  coverlet,  stifling 
the  sobs,  which  seemed  as  if  they  would  rend 
her  bosom  asunder.  Lidy  Adela  Trovor,  like 
an  earthly  seraph,  knelt  and  prayed  to  a  mer- 
ciful Almighty,  for  the  admission  of  that  little, 
frail,  all  but  sinless  soul,  into  the  regions  of 
eternal  felicity,  if  it.  should  please  Him  to  take 
her  to  him^lf. 

The  moat  profound  silence  prevailed.  The 
ticking  of  the  watch,  which  the  physician  held 
in  his  hand,  was  since  heard. 

His  attention  was  riveted  as  well  upon  the 
child's  face  as  upon  her  pulse. 

Occasionally  he  would  remove  his  hand  from 
her  wri^t,  and  place  it  upon  her  brow,  leave  it 
thfsre,  and  take  it  away  again,  with  something 
like  an  expression  of  disappointment  upon  bis 
faee.  He  would  then  place  it  upon  her  heart, 
and  press  it  gently  ;  and,  af.er  a  minute  or  two, 
reiu-n  it  to  her  wrist. — it  seemed  almost  with 
an  aspect  of  renewed  hope. 

Now  and  then  he  moistened  her  lips  with  a 
grape,  or  bathed  her  scorched  brow  with  a 
sponge,  moistened  with  vinegar  and  water , 
font  still  she  remained  perfectly  motionless. 

At  an  unexpected  moment  she  moaned,  and 
then  heaved  a  gentle  sigh. 

At  tae  same  tiu-ie  ehe  opened  her  eyes,  and, 
moving  them,  gazed  slowly  round  her,  as  if 
she  kae*r  rot  where  sbe  was. 

'•  Whichever  of  you  ladies  know  the  poor 
little  creature  the  best  torn  your  face  to  her," 
hastily  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  in  a  whisper. 

Susan  A.tten  instantly  raised  her  face  from 
Ihe  coverlet,  and  laid  it  genily  near  to  Flor- 
et's. 

As  soon  a?  the  faint  eyes  or  the  child  rented 
upon  it,  ebe  sooilwd  ?w«etly,  and  in  a  low,  feeble 
^oice,  actrc«ly  audible,  murmured  : 

"M-imoia  Atten !  dear,  dear  Mammi  At- 
ten  !" 

"  She  is  saved  !"  fj  vculated  the  phjeician,  in 
\  low,  impressive  toue. 
Tae  Countess  rose  up,  and,  turning  her  fac$ 


away,  buried  it  in  her  handkerchief.  Lady 
Adeia  audibly,  between  her  sobs,  returned 
thanks  to  Heaven. 

Poor,  weak,  worn-out  Susan  Atten  fainted 
away. 

CHAPTER  V. 

"  0  blynd  world  :  O  blynd  intencion 
How  oft  fttlle  at  the  effect  U  contrair."  — CHAVCEB, 

«'  For  men  shall  not  BO  nere  of  counsel  been 
With  womauhede,  DC  knowen  ot  her  guise, 
Ne  what  they  ihiuk,  ne  of  their  wit  tnengine 
I  me  report  to  Salomon  the  wipe, 
Aod  mighty  Sampson,  which  beguiled  thrice 
Wi  h  Dalida  was  *  he  wot  that  la  a  throwe, 
There  may  no  man,  statute  of  women  knowe." 

— THB  COUET  OF  LOTS. 

Yes!  Floret  was  saved ! 

The  fire,  which  had  raged  with  impetuous 

fory,  had  burned  itself  out,  leaving  the  little 

delicate  frame  refined  and  purified,  as  virgin 

old  after  it  has  been  freed  from   is  earthly 

roes  by  the  fiercest  heat. 

It  hjid  been  elow  in  its  approaches,  and  the 
signs  it  gave  of  having  established  itself  in  her 
system  were  misinterpreted  by  both  Susan  and 
Hatty  as  harbingers  of  that  most  ineidioua  and 
fatal  of  all  diseases  to  which  the  human  frame 
is  suVject — consumption! 

The  fever  left  her  strengthless,  pewerless, 
and  wasted  to  a  shadow  ;  but,  as  the  physician 
said,  the  renewal  of  her  powers  resolved  itself 
into  a  question  of  pure  eoft  air  and  sunny 
skies. 

He  prognosticated  that,  with  the  help  oi 
those  charming  essentials  to  health,  she  would 
Boon  be  stronger  and  in  better  condition  than, 
perhaps,  she  had  ever  been. 

The  Countess  readily  undertook  to  provide 
her  with  a  country  home,  ar«l  made  an  offer  to 
Susan  A'ten  to  allow  her  a  com/onable  in- 
come if  ebe  would  give  ap  her  occupation  as  a 
dressmaker,  and  take  charge  of  Floret.  To 
this  proposition  Susan  readily  consented,  and 
arrangements  were  soon  made  and  completed. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  fortnight,  Floret, 
though  etill  feeble,  was  pronounced  strong 
enough  to  be  moved.  Temporary  apartments 
had  been  taken  for  her  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
town  of  Reigate,  and  thither  Susan  departed 
with  her.  Hatty  accompanied  her,  having  de- 
cided to  give  her  pupila  a  rest,  and  take  a  little 
holiday  hereelf. 

She  bad  not  much  fear  of  losing  her  connec- 
tion. She  had  not  to  learn  tbat  DO  other  per- 
son couli  give  ttie  lessons  she  did  at  a  cheaper 
fignre. 

Toe  Countess  of  Brackleigh  had — certainly 
undtr  the  suggestion  of,  and  with  the  eanction 
of  the  physician — se]ected  Reigate  as  the  place 
best  calculated  to  rapidly  restore  Floret  to 
health  ;  but  she  had  ulso  selected  it  because  of 
her  intended  vieit  to  Brighton,  to  obtain  the 
certificate  of  marriage  between  Bertram  and 
Constance  PUntacenet.  She  was  not  certain 
but  that  ehe  ifcight  have  some  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining the  certificate,  that  it  might  involve 
tome  time  ;  and  a*  she  did  net  think  it  would 
be  prudent  to  remain  iu  Brighton  alone,  and 


HAG  AH  LOI 


she  did  not  wish  to  return  to  London  after 
«very  visit,  she  conceived  the  idea  of  sojourn- 
ing at  lleigate  in  secret  with  Florst,  until  she 
had  secured  the  document  which,  while  it  gave 
to  her  an  enormous  power  over  Bertram,  would 
eome  day  serve  to  restore  the  Tpor  Girl  to  her 
proper  position. 

It  would,  perhapp,  however,  be  hard  to  say 
•what  were  her  actual  intentions.  In  fact,  she 
had  not  laid  down  any  real  plan  to  pursue 
after  she  had*  obtained  the  certificate  of  Ber- 
tram's marriage  to  Constance.  Badly  as  he 
had  behaved  to  her,  ehe,  woman-like,  did  not 
wish  to  part  with  Bertram.  She  was  anxious 
to  have  him  completely  in  thrall,  but  not  to 
surrender  him  altogether.  But  she  had  a  pre 
dominant  wUh  to  be  revenged  upon  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Westcaester.  Tbe  hate  with  which 
she  regarded  her  was  intense,  and  she  was  bent 
upon  her  downfall,  even  if  it  involved  the  de- 
struction of  her  own  happiness.  Under  any 
circumstances,  she  did  not  intend  to  hesitate 
or  to  falter  in  her  progress,  until  she  had  se- 
cured the  desired  certificate ;  and  when  that 
was  safely  ia  her  possession,  she  foresaw  that 
she  would  have  to  be  guided  in  her  fut-ure  pro- 
ceedings, in  a  ^reat  degree,  by  the  direction, 
events  i^i^ht  take. 

The  cottage  in  which  F.oret^  found  a  new 
home  was  situated  on  the  road*  leading  from 
Reigate  to  Dorking,  tfot  far  from  '.t  was  a 
picturesque,  heath-covered,  sandy  moor,  on 
which  stood  a  mill,  and  the  scenery  around  it 
was  of  the  most  picturesque*  description.  A 
few  days  only  passed  there  had  a  %  magical  ef- 
fect upon  Floret.  She  gained  strength  and 
appetite  hourly  and  at  the  expiration  of  a 
week,  she  could  walk  a  mile  more  without 
fatigue.  Toe-restorative  qualities  and  invigor- 
ating properties  of  that  charming  locality  to 
fever-stricken-  invalids  are,  indeed,  something 
extraordinary  ;  but  no  one  ever  had  more  oc~ 
casion  to  be  grateful  for  th  benefits  than 
Floret. 

She  recovered  ber  spirits  with  "her  strength, 
and  soon  grew  as  lively  and  joyous  as  she  bad, 
before  her  illness,  been  dull  and  listless.  She 
hankered  for  the  fresh  air,  and  was  scarcely 
contented  unless  out  in  it,  and  breathing  in  it; 
but  in  the  evenings,  when  a  little  tired  by  her 
day's  exertions,  she  would  ply  her  needle 
under  instructions  from  Susan,  or  devote  her- 
self to  writing,  under  the  able  tuition  of  Hatty 
Marr. 

During  this  brief  interval,  the  Countess  of 
Brackleigh  lingered  in  London,  hoping  to  re- 
ceive some  communication  from  Bertram,  in- 
forming her,  at  least,  where  he  was  staying; 
but  none  came,  and  she  wept  bitterly  in  secret 
His  unfeeling  conduct,  however,  only  hardened 
her  resolution,  and  made  her  loathing  of  the 
cause  of  her  wrong  increase  in  bitterness.  In- 
stead of  abandoning  her  project,  therefore,  as 
she  might  have  been,  perhaps,  induced  to  do, 
had  the  Earl  been  kind  and  commonly  atten- 
tive to  her,  she  determined  to  waste  no  more 
time,  but  to  execute  it- 
She  preserved  her  usual  manner  before  the 


servants,  and  took  the  absence  of  tbe  Earl' 
their  master,  as  a  matter  of  course,  tbe  result 
of  no  division  of  feeling  between  them,  but 
simply  as  a  proceeding  which  had  ira  proper 
inducements,  and  was  perfectly  en  regie. 

She  did  not  elective  one  of  the n^  sJthougb 
she  hoped  the  did  ;  and  she  at  length  departed 
from  London,  too.  This  time,  however,  fol- 
lowing the  example  which  her  1.  rd  had  given 
her,  without  dropping  a  hint  whither  ehe  was 
going. 

She  proceeded  direct  to  Brighton,  attended 
only  by  her  maid,  Subtle,  etd,  leaving  her  to 
frmuee'hereelf  upon  tbe  teach,  in  front  of  the 
Esplanade,  ehe  proceeded  on  to  Hove  alone. 

Aa  soon  as  she  could  see  a  disengaged  car- 
riage, she  hired  it,  and,  after  mak'rg  aonse  in 
quiries  of  the  flyman,  sLe  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  reeidecce  of  the  Clerk  cf  St.  Mary's 
Church,  and  having,  fortunately,  found  him  at 
home,  ehe  re quested  him  to  accompany  fcer  to 
the  church,  in  order  that  he  might  give  her  a 
copy  of  a  certificate  of  marriage  "which  the  re- 
quired. 

The  request,  though  not  common  to  a  pain- 
fulJy  lucrative  extent,  was  etill  rot  altogether 
an  unusual  one  ;  but  the  style  of  the  lafly 
who  made  it  was  pueh  as  to  command  his  at- 
tention. Like  the  Marchioness  of  "Weetchester, 
she  was  thickly  vailed;  but  the  elegance  of 
her  drees,  the  magcificence  of  feer  jeweJry,  and 
the  exquisitely  fragrant  perfume  that  pervaded 
the  atmosphere  whenever  ehe  moved,  convinced 
him  that  he  had  another  "  tip-top  lady"  for  a 
customer,  and  vieions  of  sovereign  number 
two,  in  lieu  of  a  chilling,  danced  before  his 
joyous  eyes. 

He  ushered  the  lady  over  the  eame  ground 
which  the  Marchioness  of  Weetchester  had 
trodden,  bent  upon  the  eame  errand  as  herself, 
but  a  short  time  before.  She  entered  the  lit- 
tleyvestry,  and,  as  the  obsequious  clerk  ques- 
tioned her  respecting  tte  date  of  tbe  year  of 
the- mania  (re  of  which  ehe  required  the  copy 
of  a  certificate,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the 
heart  of  the  Marclioress,  at  a  similar  mcment, 
beat  with  greater  violerce  than  cid  hers. 

She  consulted  a  slip  of  paper,  which  she 
held  in  he?  hand,  and  named  the  year  1832. 

In  a  moment,  the  volume  of  that  year  was 
placed  before  her. 

"  Our  charge  for  exemhnng  the  book  is  one 
shilling  per  vol.,"  observed*  the  Clerk,  leaning 
for  a  moment  upon  it,  with  folded  arrcs,  and 
gazing  up  at  ber  vail,  as  'if  with  the  intention 
of  scrutinizing  her  features. 

She  shrunk,  with  a  slight  movement,  tack- 
ward. 

"And  our  charge  for  a  copy  of  a  certifi- 
cate,5' he  continued,  "  is — " 

She  placed  in  bis  bands  a  sovereign,  and  he 
dispatched  it  to  the  depths  of  his  pccket. 

"Did  you  wish  a — ,"  he  remarked,  with  a 
bland  smile,  and  hesitated. 

4  I  wish  to  examine  the  book  myself,"  she 
interposed,  a  little  hurriedly. 

14  Cer-tainly,"  he  rejoined,  laying  it  open  be- 
fore her.  "If  you  should  wish  a — " 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


19 


"  I  will  call  your  attention  to  what  I  require, 
when  I  have  discovered  the  entry  of  which  I 
am  in  search,"  she  interrupted,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Ver  y  good,  Madam,"  he  exclaimed,  over- 
lapping bls'hands  rapidly  ;  and  the  change — ]' 

"  I  shill  not  require  it,"  she  returned,  hasti- 
ly ;  "I  hate  to  be  burdened  with  silver." 
I,  He  bowed,  and  mentally  congratulated  him- 
selfoanofc  being  afflicted  with  such  a  weak- 
ness. He  reflected,  at  the  same  moment,  that 
silver  was  a  burden  which  was  seldom  imposed 
upon  him,  and  he  thought  that  he  should  not 
groan  under  is,  if  it  were. 

"  I  shall  ba  within  hearing,  if  you  will  do 
me  the  honor  to  call  me,  when  you  require  my 
assistance,"  he  remarked,  as,  with  a  bow,  he 
glided  into  the  church  to  rout  up  the  pew-open- 
er, who,  as  usual,  was  not  there,  and,  as  he 
constantly  declared,  never  was,  when  he  want- 
ed her — which,  perhaps,  was  ©ftener  than  he 
was  entitled  to  exppct. 

The  Countess,  as  soon  as  he  had  departed, 
produced  the  card  which  she  had  intercepted 
on  its  way  from  Nat  to  Bertram.  She  referred 
to  the  opposite  side  to  that  on  which  he  had 
printed  the  names  of  the  principals  and  the 
witnesses  of  the  marriage  between  Constance 
and  Bertram,  and  there  saw  some  memoranda, 
which,  though  in  pencil,  she  intuitively  felt 
related  to  the  entry  in  the  register  book.  They 
were  as  follows : 

"  Page  134.  December  5th,  1832.  No.  107." 

She,  after  examining  these  numbers  and 
dates  with  attention,  turned  over  the  leaves  for 
page  134. 

She  arrived  at  page  133.  The  last  marriage 
register  upon  it  was  marked  "No.  106." 

She  paused,  and  felt  dizzy  for  a  moment  ; 
but,  nerving  herself  to  her  task,  she  turned 
over  the  leaf,  the  entry  upon  which,  when  made 
known  to  the  world,  was  to  blight  her  fame  and 
position  for  ever. 

Shivering,  shuddering,  cold  as  a  stone,  she 
placed  her  trembling  fingers  upon  the  mar- 
riage there  recorded,  and  fastened  her  dim  eyes 
upon  the  written  names. 

She  started,  with  a  cry  of  amazement — they 
were  not  those  she  sought.  She  ran  her  eye 
eagerly  down  the  page.  There  was  not  one 
name  which  ehe  recognized  ;  she  referred  to 
the  preceding  page — to^the  subsequent  page — 
but  with  the  same  disappointing  result  She 
examined  the  card  again,  the  page  noted  down 
was  certainly  134,  and  the  number  of  the  mar- 
riage 107.  She  returned  to  the  book,  and 
found  that  she  had  been  examining  page  135, 
She  went  back  to  the  preceding  page — it  was 
numbered  133.  The  marriage  registered  upon 
it  was  106.  She  turned  over  the  leaf,  the  mar- 
riage on  the  page  was  numbered  103. 

The  leaf  which  contained  the  register  of 
Bertram's  marriage  with  Constance  was  gone. 

She  examined  the  centre  of  the  book  where 
it  was  stitched,  and  the  mystery  was  explain- 
ed. 

She  discovered  that  the  leaf  had  been  sharp- 
ly and  cleanly  cut  out  at  the  centre,  and  ex- 
tracted. 


Overcome  by  the  disappointment,  she  bowed 
her  face  on  the  book,  and  a  passionate  burs^ 
of  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes. 

She  was,  she  believed,  defeated,  and  Con- 
ctance  had  triumphed.  Keflection,  however, 
came  to  her  aid,  and  re-assured  her  the  tri- 
umph could  be  only  for  a  time.  She  had  yet 
in  her  power  the  child,  whom  she  was  sure  was 
the  offspring  of  the  secret  marriage,  the  record 
of  which  she  was  searching  for,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  endeavor  to  find  out,  with  the  aid  of 
Nat  Ferret,  who  she  considered  was  in  her 
power,  the  witnesses.  Her  labors  would  be  in- 
creased, she  perceived,  but  she  resolved  to 
overcome  the  difficulty  by  energy  and  deter- 
mination. 

She  removed  the  traces  of  her  tears,  and 
called  the  Clerk.  He  approached  her,  rubbing 
his  hands.  She  gazed  at  him  with  a  stern  as- 
pect, and  pointed  to  the  book. 

"  I  wish  to  consult  page  134,"  ehe  said.  "  I 
cannot  find  it." 

"That is  a  small  difficulty  very  soon  got 
over,  Madam,"  he  returned,  rather  awed  bj 
her  haughty  manner, 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  rejoined. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  he  responded.  <!Here 
you  will  perceive  we  have  page  184,  and  mar- 
riage No.  106.  The  marriages,  you  will  un- 
derstand, Madam,  are  numbered*  as  well  as  the 
pages,  so  that,  in  the  event  of  an  error  occur- 
ring in  paging  the  book,  or  in  numbering  the 
marriage,  it  can  be  soon  set  right.  Now,  here 
you  see  there  is  a  palpable  mistake  in  the 
paging  of  133  and  135  ,  but  we  overcome  that 
stupid  miatake  by  the  number  of  the  mar- 
riage. Thus,  here  we  have  No.  106,  and 
here,"  he  paused,  "  and  here — and  here — No. 
108.  Good  Heaven!  the  leaf  has  been  cut 
out!"  he  cried,  with  chattering  teeth,  as  he 
ran  his  finger  up  the  centre  of  the  volume, 
and  felt  the  sharp  edge  of  the  other  half  of 
the  sheet  of  paper,  to  which  page  134  had 
been  attached.  "Felony — felony!"  he  mut- 
tered, with  shaking  knees. 

The  Countess  looked  at  him  fixedly.  It  was 
a  question  which  instantly  presented  itself  to 
her  mind,  whether  the  man  had  not  been  a 
party  to  the  abstraction,  and  had  received  a 
heavy  bribe  for  his  complicity. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  in  slow  but  marked 
tones,  "  whether  you  can  remember  any  other 
person  than  myself  requesting  to  see  the  entry 
of  the  marriage  at  page  134." 

"Remember,"  he  ejaculated,  in  a  lachry- 
mose tone  ;  "  remember — how  should  I  re- 
member, when  people  are  constantly  coming 
and  wanting  copies  of  the  books  ?  Remem- 
ber—" v 

"  Do  you  recollect  making  a  copy  from  the 
register  of  a  marriage  entered  on  page  134, 
recently?"  interrupted  the  Countess,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Recently  ?"  he  echoed,  vacantly. 

"Yes;  a  day — a  day — a  week — a  month — 
a  year  back  ?"  she  cried,  with  restless  anxiety. 

He  clasped  his  hands  to  bis  forehead  and 
said,  reflectively : 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


"I  made  a  copy  of  a  register  of  a  marriage 
for  a  lady  from  that  volume  a  short  time 
ago — " 

"Tall,  commanding  presence,  elegantly 
dressed  f"  suggested  the  Countess,  rapidly. 

"Ye— ye — jes,"  he  replied,  eagerly;  "a 
queen  of  a  woman." 

The  Countess's  lip  curled  with  a  smile  of  tri- 
umph. 

"  A  fresh  crime,"  she  muttered.    "  0,  if  I 
ean  but  bring  it  home  to  her,  I'll  drag  her  to 
the  tribunal  of  justice." 
,     Then,  addressing  the  Clerk,  she  said  : 
\    "  Call  to  your  remembrance  the  names  of 
the  persons  of  whose  marriage  she  wished  to 
obtain  a  certified  copy." 

"  0  yes,  I  can  do  that,"  cried  the  Clerk, 
quickly.  "  In  fact,  I  have  the  copy  here.  She 
pointed  out  the  names,  and  was  to  call  for  the 
copy,  but  she  has  notyefc  been." 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  exclaimed  the  Countess, 
sharply,  as  with  trembling  fingers  he  pro- 
duced from  a  large  pocketbook  a  printed  form 
filled  up. 

She  almost  snatched  it  from  him,  and  with 
glittering  eyes,  perueed  it. 

After  reading  the  first  few  words,  she  flung 
ifback  to  him. 

.  ""It  is  an  extract  from  page  145,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  "  The  names 
are^enry  Creapy  and  Isabella  Lane,  and  not 
what  I  seek.  The  certificate  I  am  in  search  of 
is,  I  tell  you,  from  page  134— the  names,  Len- 
nox Bertram  and  Constance  Seville — " 

He  clapped  his  hands  together  with  a  smack 
which  rung  through  the  aisles  of  the  church 

"I  have  it  now— I  have  it  now !"  he  cried, 
excitedly.  "  Some  time  in  June  last,  in  the 
early  part  of  tke  month,"a  ehort,  low,  horse- 
stealing -looking  fellow  came  to  me,  and  want- 
ed a  certificate  from  the  very  page,  134,  and 
containing  the  precise  names  you  mention.  I 
wrote  it  out  for  him,  and  he  grumbled  at  my 
charge  of  three  and  sixpence,  and  offered  to 
toss  me  whether  he  sheuld  pay  me  four  shil- 
lings or  nothing.  O,  I  recollect  it  well  now. 
'Page  134,  Lennox  Bertram,  Constance  Ne- 
ville', and — " 

"Did  you  leave  him  here  alone  for  any 
length  of  time  ?"  inquired  the  Couatess,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Only  for  a  minute  or  two,  at  most,"  re- 
turned the  Clerk,  agitatedly.  "  The  fact  is, 
that  he  tendered  me  a  most  suspicious-looking 
.five- shilling  piece — when  indignantly  refusing 
to  toss  with  him,  I  withheld  the  copy  of  the 
certificate — and  requested  change.  1  declined 
to  take  it,  but  he  said  he  had  no  other  silver, 
and  I  ran  to  find  the  pew-opener,  who  happen 
ed  to  be  out  of  the  way  at  the  moment,  as  she 
mostly  is  when  I  want  her.  I  tried  the  piece 
by  ringing  and  biting  it,  and  believing  it,  at 
last,  to  be  a  good  one,  which  it  certainly  proved 
to  be,  I  returned  to  him  hastily.  I  fortunate- 
ly happened  to  have  some  loose  silver  ia  my 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  from  that  I  gave  him 
his  change." 

"  Was  ho  touching  or  looking  over  the  rol- 


ume  when  you  returned?"  inquired  the  Count- 
esp,  thoughtfully. 

'•No,  Madam,"  retufted  the  Clerk;  "I 
found  him  leaning  against  the  doorway  of  the 
vtstry  here,  singing  in  a  loud  voice  a  profane 
song  about  'Vixen  and  Towler,  and  Merry 
Legs  and  Joyler,  and  they  were  the  dogs  that 
'ood  follow.'  I  reproved  him,  aod  started  him 
off.  That's  the  man  who  has  cut  the  leaf  out 
of  the  book,  Madam." 

"Are  you  sure  cf  it?"  she  aske<%  quietly 
and  earnestly. 

"As  sure  as  I  caa  be  of  anything  in  the 
world,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "  HH  looked  like 
a  thhf,  and  no  doubt  he  had  some  villainous 
motive  for  extracting  that  reeia»er.  He  has 
been  bribed  to  do  it — bribed.  Madam,  by  some 
influential  parties,  you  may  be  ture  of  thai." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  she  inquired, 
eyeing  him  with  a  peLetrating  glance. 

"  What,  Madam,  let  me  a.*k  you,  would  such 
a  low-looking  thief  want  with  the  aoual  cer- 
tincate  of  the  marriage  of  two  persons  who 
could  not  be  any  concections  of  his  ?"  return- 
ed the  Clerk,  with  nervous  agitation  ;  "  no — 
no,  there's  mystery  in  if,  property  in  it ;  but, 
fortunately,  I  know  where  to  lay  my  hand  upon 
h  m." 

The  Countess  started,  and  glanced  at  him 
with  eager  surprise.  She  was  estouiabed,  be- 
cause she  recognized  Nat  Ferret  by  the  Clerk's 
description  ;  and  as  she  ktew  that  he  Lad  ac- 
companied the  Earl  when  he  left,  London,  and 
she  did  not  know  whither  be  had  gone,  she 
marveled  how  the  Clerk  should. 

"  You  know  where  to  lay  your  hand  upon 
him?  '  she  echoed. 

"Yes,  Madam,"  he  replied,  noddirg  Lishead 
expres-eively  ;  "  I  saw  him  yesterday." 

"  You  did  ?''  she  ejaculated,  amazed. 

"Yes,  Madam,  1  did,'' replied  the  Cierk, 
copying  her  emphasis  r>n  the  pronoun  ;  *'  and 
before  he's  maoy  hours  older,  I'll  eet  oui  chief 
officer,  Solomon,  on  him." 

"  Stay,"  interposed  the  Countess,  "  one  mo- 
ment, it"  you  please.  You  s»y  that  you  saw 
the  person  whom  you  suspect  of  hav'irg  pur- 
loined the .  leaf  out  of  yonder  book,  Yester- 
day ?'' 

'•  I  do,  Madam,  and  I  can  prove  it."  return- 
ed the  Clerk. 

"  Where?"  she  aekefl,  quietly. 

"Just  before  you  came  to  the  Battery,  in 
the  King's  Road,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  waa  he  attired  ?"  she  at>ked. 

"  As  8  sharp,  smart  groom  ;  he  was  drossfd 
in  a  dark  gray  suit,"  replied  the  Cl-rk.  "He 
wa^  so  altered  for  the  better,  I  scarcely  knew 
him  ;  but  it  was  the  same  man.  1'il  swear  to 
him." 

"Was  he  alone?"  inquired  the  Countess, 
with  eagerness. 

"He  was  mounted  upon  a  beautiful  bay 
horee,  following  bis  master,  who  was  on  u  short 
distance  in  front  of  him/' 

"  Describe  his  master  to  me !"  exclaimed 
the  Countess,  in  an  authoritative,  almost  a 
fierce  tone. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GlRL. 


The  man  was  startled  by  her  sudden  ve- 
hemence. 

"  I  did  not  take  much  notice  of  him,  Ma- 
dam," be  answered  ;  "  but  I  should  Bay  he 
was  an  officer  in  the  aimy,  or  a  nobleman — 
perhaps  both.  He  had  a  very  handsome  face, 
with  a  dark  mustache,  and  sat  his  horse  like 
an  Earl." 

The  Countess  pressed  her  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment over  her  eyes. 

So  the  Earl  was  in  Brighton ;  perhaps  had 
divined  her  purpose,  and  had  anticipated  it  by 
the  aid  of  Nat. 

A  cold,  death-like  feeling  stole  over  her  as 
ahe  saw  that,  if  her  eurmise  were  true,  bow  ut- 
terly she  was  in  his  power  to  wear  as  a  wife  so 
long  as  it  suited  him  to  do  so,  and  to  cast  off 
as  worthless  when  the  moment  arrived  which 
would  tnable  to  do  so  with  impunity. 

Men  may,  in  some  degree,  be  able  to  sympa- 
thize wilh  her  unhappy  condition  ;  but  it  is 
woman,  and  woman  only,  who  can  realize  what 
she  suffered  while  these  thoughts  were  passing 
through  her  mind. 

The  Clerk  rambled  on  with  a  mixture  of 
menaces  and  lamentations,  while  her  brain  was 
distracted  by  the  thoughts  which  thronged 
and  raced  through  it.  She  at  first  heeded 
him  not,  bat  the  necessity  for  seL-exertion  and 
command  pressed  itself  upon  her  considera- 
tion ;  and  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  denunciation 
of  Nat,  which  rolled  like  soft  thunder  from  the 
lips  of  the  Clerk,  followed  by  a  somewhat 
watery  declaration  that  he  would  not  rest  until 
he  hanged  him,  she  raised  her  hand  and  stilled 
the  torrent. 

She  produced  a  purse,  and  pulled  out  sever- 
al pieces  of  gold,  which,  being  new  from  the 
mint,  had  a  very  attractive  glitter.  They 
sparkled,  and  so  did  the  eyes  of  the  Clerk. 

"  Listen  to  me,  if  you  please,"  observed  the 
Countess,  with  a  subdued  bat  peculiarly  im- 
pressive tone  and  manner.  "  I  am  the  person 
most  deeply  wronged  by  the  abstraction  of 
that  register  of  marriage.  It  inflicts  upon  me 
a  lasting  injury,  or  its  destruction  may  prove 
of  the  greatest  benefit  to  me.  Under  either 
phase,  I  alone  am  likely  to  make  an  outcry 
about  this  wicked  robbery.  At  present  it  is 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  me  that  it  should 
be  kept  secret." 

She  placed  several  gold  pieces  in  his  appar 
«Btly  most  reluctantly   proffered    hand,  and 
Bftid . 

"Do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I  would 
insult  you  by  attempting  to  bribe  you.  I  aek 
only  of  you  as  a  favor  to  keep  this  matter  a 
secret  until  I  bid  you  speak.  It  will  not  be 
discovered  if  you  are  silent,  for  there  is  only 
one  marriage  entered  upon  that  leaf,  and  you 
will  receive  no  further  applications  for  a  copy 
of  that  certificate  I  am  sure  of  that.  I,  too, 
know  the  man  who  has  stolen  it,  and  I  cm 
recovtr  it  where  you  would  fail.  I  see  clearly, 
if  you  do  not,  that  you  would  be  able  to  estab- 
lish against  him  at  most  a  suspicion  of  gui.t ; 
for,  no  douHt,  other  persons  have  had  access  to 
the  same  bock  between  his  application  and 
your  discovery  of  the  abstraction," 


"  They  have,"  groaned  the  Clerk,  slipping 
the  goldjjpieces  into  his  gaping  and  not  unwili 
ing  pocket. 

"  Therefore,  let  matters  rest  as  they  are  at 
present,"  she  added.  "  Give  me  your  name 
and  address,  so  that  when  occasion  demands  it, 
I  may  write  to  you." 

"  With  pleasure,  Madam,"  he  rejoined,  and 
produced  a  printed  card,  with  full  particulars 
of  his  other  occupations,  besides  that  of  Clerk 
of  the  church,  printed  upon  it. 

She  took  it  from  him,  and  placed  it  in  a  small 
pocket-book. 

"Remember,"  she  paid,  impressively,  "that 
you  keep  the  secret.  Do  not  mention  to  any 
person,  if  inquiry  should  be  made  of  you — you 
will  mark  what  I  say — that  I  have  been  here  ; 
not  even  if  an  accurate  description  of  my  ap- 
pearance be  furnished  to  you.  You  •will  not 
forget  this  caution,  for  if  you  should,  I  shall 
euflfer  by  your  indiscretion,  as  I  have  done, 
and  I  may  punish  you  instead  of  rewarding 
you." 

Without  another  word,  eke  hurried  from  the 
church,  leaving  him  alone,  aghast,  and  utierly 
overwhelmed. 

She  entered  the  open  carriage  which  she  had 
hired,  and  proceeded  to  eeirch  for  her  maid, 
Subtle,  asd  on  finding  her  near  to  the  spot 
where  she  had  left  her,  she  bade  her  take  her 
seat  in  the  carriage  with  her.  She  then  bade 
the  driver  convey  them  up  and  down  the 
King's  Road,  facing  the  sea,  until  she  gave  him 
freeh  orders. 

The  afternoon  was  very  beautiful,  and  the 
King's  Road  was,  as  it  usually  is,  thronged 
with  equestrians  and  carriages,  though  in  that 
day  the  mis  en  scene  was  of  a  somewhat  differ- 
ent character  to  what  is  to  be  seen  at  the  same 
place  now. 

The  Countess,  with  her  thick  vail  over  her 
face,  leaned  back  ia  her  carriage,  although  she 
scanned  eagerly  every  face  that  paeeed. 

For  some  time,  she  remained  without  mak- 
ing a  single  movement,  reclining  as  still  and 
motionless  as  if  she  were  carved  out  of  stone. 

Suddenly  she  sat  upright,  threw  back  her 
vail,  and  leaning  forward,  bowed  low  and  for- 
mally to  a  gentleman  who  was  advancing  tow- 
ard her  on  horseback. 

He  raised  his  hat,  and  the  next  instant  hia 
placid,  smiling  features  underwent  an  extraor- 
dinary change. 

It  was  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  suddenly, 
to  his  overwhelming  amazement,  he  recognized 
the  features  of  the  Countess. 

A  thought  flashed  through  his  mind  that  she 
might  have  discovered  something  respecting 
his  previous  marriage,  he  knew  not  whac,  and 
that  she  had,  perhaps,  been  to  Hove  Church  to 
search  the  books.  At  this  instant,  a  child's 
toy- hoop  rolled  from  the  pavement  beneath  his 
horse's  jeet. 

The  animal,  which  had  been  curveting  and 
prancing,  now  plunged  affrightedly,  reared 
and  bolted.  i 

The  Countess  gave  one  agitated  glance  after 
him,  saw  Nat  sweep  past  her  carriage  in  full 


HAGAR  L01' 


chase,  and  a  dozen  other  equestrians  also.  She 
compressed  her  lips  ;  her  first  impulse  was,  to 
remain  and  learn  what  consequence  might  fol- 
low from  the  Earl's  horse  having  taken  fnght ; 
but,  after  a  moment's  anxious  wavering,  she 
bade  her  coachman  drive  as  quickly  as  he 
could  to  the  railway  station. 

She  proceeded  with  her  maid,  Subtle,  to  Red 
Hill,  by  the  train,  but  eome  two  or  three  hours 
elapsed  before  she  could  obtain  a  vehicle  to 
convey  her  to  Reigate — a  distance  of  some  four 
miles. 

At  length,  after  sundown,  a  carriage  made  its 
appearance,  and  entering  it,  she  directed  the 
driver  to  convey  her  to  the  cottage  in  which 
Floret  had  been  placed. 

As  they  neared  it,  the  way  being  extremely 
dark,  the  coachman  very  nearly  drove  over  a 
woman.  He  shouted  at  her,  and  she  scream- 
ed. An  old  man  roughly  dragged  the  woman 
from  beneath  the  horse's  feet,  and  the  Countess 
heard  him  say,  in  a  husky  voice : 

"  Jamaiker  '11  be  the  death  on  you  some  day, 
Dianner.  You'll  go  afore  your  time,  as  many 
a  calf  does,  an'  vot  flowvers  d'ye  think'U  bloom 
over  your  grave — rum-buds,  Dianner,  rum- 
buds,  an'  nothen  puttier!" 

"  All-rite-ol-man-of-all!"  muttered  a  thick 
voice,  incoherently. 

The  coachman  drove  on,  and  in  two  or  three 
minutes  more  the  Countess  aligh'ed  at  the  cot- 
tage in  which  Floret  lay  buried  in  a  profound 
and  happy  slumber. 

CHAPTER  VI. 
"  The  panic  spread. 

Twas  but  that  icstant  she  had  left       *       * 
Laughing  and  looking  back       *        * 
But  now,  alas!  the  was  not  to  be  found  ; 
Nor  from  that  hour  could  anything  be  guess'd 
But  that  she  was  not."  — JROGEBS. 

The  Countess  of  Braekleigh  remained  at  th- 
cottage  at  Reigate  until  the  middle  of  the  fol 
lowing  day. 

She  believed  that  she  knew  the  worst  of  her 
position  now,  and  that  she  had  a  clear  concep- 
tion of  the  course  which  she  ought  to  pursue. 

She  had  no  doubt  that,  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  she  was  no  wife  ,  but  she  saw  that  if  she 
could  secure  possession  of  that  certificate  of 
marriage  of  which  she  had  been  in  search,  and 
destroy  it,  DO  person  could  actually  disprove 
the  validity  of  her  marriage  with  Bertram,  be- 
cause the  documentary  proofs  of  a  former  mar- 
riage could  not  be  forthcoming,  not  being  in 
existence. 

That  is  to  say,  that  neither  she  nor  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Weetchester,  nor  Bertram  himself, 
were  aware  that  a  transcript  of  the  registers  of 
marriages  throughout  the  United  Kingdfom  for 
many  years  back  had  been  made,  under  a  com- 
paratively-recent Act  of  Parliament,  and  that 
this  transcript  was  deposited  at  Somerse 
Houee. 

fgfThey  all  believed  that,  with  the  dsstruction 
of  the  original  certificate,  all  proef  of  the  mar- 
riage was  at  an  end ;  and  they  acted  in  accord 
ance  with  tha>  idea. 
•    The  Countess  reeelved  to  remain  the  Count- 


of  Brackleigh  until  all  prospect  of  happi- 
ness with  her  pseudo  husband  had  ceased. 
When  all  hope  forsook  her,  then  she  resolved 
;o  lay  her  caee  before  her  father,  and  be  guided 
and  governed  by  his  counsel. 

In  the  interim,  she  had  no  intention  of  per- 
mitting the  Marchioness  of  Westchester  to  live 
on  in  scornful  disregard  of  her  wrong,  or 
Her  own  guilt ;  but  the  details  of  her  intent  to 
keep  her  in  a  continual  state  of  apprehension 
she  reserved  for  future  consideration. 

She  had,  however,  one  eettled  idea,  end  that 
was  the  possibility  of  making  poor  little  Floret 
the  great  instrument  of  her  revenge.  Alas ! 
wrapped  up  in  the  contemplation  of  her  own 
inexcusable  injury,  absorbed  by  the  idea  of 
some  ample  and  complete  avengement,  ehe  for- 
got that  the  child  had  sensibilities  and  suscep- 
tibilities, a  strong  development  of  a  ^natural 
pride,  and  a  very  acute  senee  of  humiliation, 
scorn,  and  degradation.  It  did  cot  suggest 
iteelf  to  her  that  the  success  of  her  designs 
might  result  in  the  destruction  of  that  innocent 
girl's  happiness — probably  in  a  crushed,  bruis- 
ed, abrased  spirit,  and  a  broken  heart. 

No  ;  she  felt  that  she  had  been  hereelf  griev- 
ously abused,  and  she  thought  only  of  exact- 
ing atonement  by  euch  means  as  were  in  her 
power.  Like  most  persons  mistakenly  moved 
by  the  spirit  of  revenge,  ehe  did  not  reflect 
that,  in  the  astempt  to  avenge  an  injury,  she 
would,  in  all  probability,  inflict  one. 

She  passed  an  hour  or  two  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  Suean  Atten.  She  gave  her  gener- 
al directions  respecting  the  custody,  training, 
and  management  of  Floret.  She  presented  her 
with  an  order  upon  her  bankers,  to  draw  quar- 
terly a  sum  for  the  comfortable  maintenance  of 
of  both,  and  for  a  "  decent"  education  for 
Floret,  and  she  further  gave  to  her  a  token,  in 
the  form  of  a  diamond  hoop  for  the  finger — 
the  first  present  Bertram  had  made  her— by 
which  she  could  gain  access  to  her  at  any  time, 
if  she  happened  to  be  accessible,  and  she  com- 
municated to  her  a  cipher,  in  which  she  was  to 
write  to  her,  should  a  personal  interview  not 
be  possible. 

Having  done  this,  she  returned  to  London, 
and  found  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  there  before 
her. 

He  had  escaped  from  all  injury  when  his 
horee  took  fright,  owing  to  Nat  having  success- 
fully stopped  the  affrighted  animal  before  it 
had  time  to  do  injury  to  itself  or  its  master. 

He  sought  an  interview  with  her  immediately 
after  her  arrival.  He  did  not  pause  to  make 
any  preliminary  observations,  nor  await  any 
demand  of  an  explanation  of  his  conduct  from 
her  ;  but  he  burst  into  a  torrent  of  invective, 
with  which  was  mingled  a  eeries  of  charges, 
sliders,  taunts,  and  insults,  such  as  would 
have  driven  some  women  insane. 

The  Ceuntees  retained  her  Eelf-poeeefeion  to 
the  last,  hutec-ecL  to  him  calmly,  atd,  when  he 
paused  to  take  breath,  she  said,  with  a  cold 
equanimity  that  perfectly  staggered  him  : 

"  Bertram,  I  know  my  popiiion  and  yours. 
The  chief  of  what  you  have  dared  to  utter  I 


Oil,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOK  GiEL. 


meet  with  unqualified  scorn.  You  know  what 
you  have  asserted  to  be  falee,  or  you  are  more 
of  a  natural  fool  than  a  knave.  Whatever  may 
be  the  influence  by  which  your  present  conduct 
is  instigated,  I  despise  it.  I  know  much  of 
your  past  history — more  than  you  conceive.  I 
shall  yet  know  more.  I  wish  I  was  in  utter  ig- 
norance of  every  particle  of  it,  and  had  never 
known,  seen,  heard  of  you.  But  I  cannot 
change  the  decrees  of  fate;  nor  can  you.  I 
muet  accept  my  unhappy  position,  and  make 
the  best  of  it.  I  shall  do  that— I  bide  my 
time;  it  will  come.  I  have  faith  in  that. 
Until  that  hour,  or  at  least  for  some  time  yet 
to  come,  let  me  counsel  you  to  preserve  a  seem- 
ing ataity  with  me.  It  will  be  your  wisest 
course.  You  have  nothing  to  gain  by  quar- 
reling with  me,  but  much  to  lose.  Your  con- 
science will— it  should — tell  you  that.  I  ask 
of  you  one  thing  only.  Questi6n  me  not.  I 
will  not  you.  I  shall  not  need !" 

Sl,«  ceased.  He  was  struck  deeply  by  the 
peculiar  character  of  her  observations.  A  busy 
conscience  caused  him  to  interpret  her  mean- 
ing, and  to  interpret  it  correctly.  He  reflected, 
and,  much  as  he  w:s  stung  by  her  contemptu- 
ous manner  of  alluding  to  him,  he  saw  quickly 
that  it  would  be  his  most  discreet  course  to  pre- 
serve a  seeming  friendship  with  her,  as  she  in- 
timated, for  the  time  being. 

There  was,  however,  one  subject  rankling 
in  his  mind ;  one  which  had,  during  his  ab 
sence  from  London,  kept  him  on  the  rack  ;  one 
which  was  trembling  on  his  lips,  and  had  been 
from  the  first  moment  of  the  present  interview  ; 
one  which  had,  indeed,  been  the  inciting  cause 
of  his  addressing  Lady  Brackleigh  with  sucb 
violent  excitement,  and  had  urged  him  to  make 
suggestions,  and  to  give  expression  to  insults, 
of  which  he  ought  to  have  been  ashamed.  As- 
suming a  stern,  haughty  mien,  he  said  : 

"  I  have  no  objection,  upon  reflection,  Lady 
Brackleigh,  to  accede  to  your  proposition, 
that  outwardly  we  should  appear  as  friends.  It 
will  be  better  for  both  that  neither  our  serv- 
ants, nor  the  world,  should  make  us  the  sub- 
ject of  slanderous  talk.  Before  I  consent, 
however,  to  the  arrangement,  there  is  a  ques- 
tion which  I  intend  to  put  to  you,  and  it  is 
one  upon  which  I  must  be  satisfied." 

He  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Proceed,"  she  observed,  as  he  hesitated ; 
"  I  am  prepared  to  receive  it,  and  to  answer  it, 
if  necessary." 

"It — it— a— it  has— a—"  he  returned,  in  a 
slightly  stammering,  confused  tone  ;  "it  has  a 
—a  reference  to  that  person— that  creature — 
that  child — to  which  your  ladyship  has 
thought— a— proper  to  take  such  a  violent 
fancy  and  adopt."  life 

"  What  of  that  child  ?"  she  asMB,  fixing 
upon  him  a  searching  glance. 

"  It  is  this,"  he  rejoined,  trying  to  speak  in 
an  authoritative,  dictatorial  tone.  "  It  will  be 
of  no  use  to  attempt  to  conceal  the  truth  from 
me,  or  to  disguise  facts.  I  ask  you,  and  I  ex- 
pect a  truthful  answer  from  you.  "Whose 
child  is  it  you  have  taken  under  your  charge  ?" 


"  "Whose  child  ?"  she  echoed,  with  amaze- 
ment, as  if  she  expected  that  he,  at  least,' 
would  not  have  asked  that  question  of  her. 

"  Ay  r  he  responded,  knitting  hia  brow, 
and  bending  a  savage  look  upon  her. 

Lowering  his  tone,  he  added  : 

"  Is  it  yours,  Lady  Brackleigh?" 

A  crimson  flush  passed  over  her  face,  and 
left  her  whiter  than  the  hue  of  death  itself j 
Fora  moment  she  was  fearfully  agitated,  hei 
eyes  were  suffused  with  burning  tears,  and  her 
bosom  heaved  and  fell,  and  her  throat  swelled 
as  though  it  would  suffocate  her. 

He  saw  with  burning  eyes  the  spasm  which 
passed  over  her  frame,  and  with  an  emotion, 
scarcely  lees  powerful  than  her  own,  he  naut* 
tered : 

"  Guilty,  by  all  the  fiends  of  hell!— guilty !" 

She  at  length  conquered  the  bitter  feelings 
which  his  words  had  occasioned,  and  she  said 
to  him,  in  slow  emphatic  tones,  which,  howev- 
er, betrayed  a  slight  degree  of  nervous  tre- 
mor 

"  Your  question  is  a  brutal  one,  and  as  un- 
just as  brutal.  It  was  wrongly  addressed  to 
me.  You  have  seen  the  child,  Lord  Brack  j 
leigh— it  bears  a  face,  the  counterpart  of  one 
well  known  to  you.  You  should  have  put  the 
question  to  yourself." 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  almost  hastily, 
perhaps,  to  conceal  the  emotion  which  his  un- 
just insult  had  aroused,  she  turned  upon  him  a 
glance,  which  seemed  to  pierce  him  through, 
for  he  shrunk  beneath  it,  and  she  quitted  the 
room. 

There  was  something  startlingly  suggestive 
in  her  observation.  TJae  significance  of  her 
look  and  tone  assured  him  that  she  had  a 
direct  and  positive  meaning  in  what  she  said, 
although  he  failed  to  interpret  it  correctly. 

He  paced  the  chamber  in  deep  and  anxious 
thought.  He  had  seen,  she  asserted,  the  child, ' 
and  it  bore  a  face  the  counterpart  of  one 
known  to  him !  ,< 

"Where  had  he  seen  the  child  ?  "Whose  face 
did  it  resemble  ?  s 

Kemembrances  at  times  present  themselves 
with  swift  abruptness,  particularly  when  un- 
bidden. He,  however,  summoned  them  now, 
and  the  one  he  sought  for  came,  but  not  to  in- 
crease his  ease.  { 

He  suddenly  remembered  the  child  to  which 
the  Countess  had  drawn  his  attention  at  Ascot 
Races.  He  recollected  that  she  had  pointed 
out  to  him  a  resemblance  which  it  bore  to  the 
Marchioness  of  Westchester.  He  had  for  the 
moment,  then,  been  startled,  but  now  he  was 
staggered.  I 

He  had  dismissed,  as  preposterous,  the 
thought  that  the  resemblance  between  the 
beggar-child  and  Constance  was  other  than 
accidental.  The  fact  that  Lady  Brackleigh 
had  obtained  possession  of  it,  and,  with  some 
purpose  in  contemplation,  had  adopted  it, 
made  him  at  once  conceive  that  there  was 
more  in  that  resemblance  than  he  supposed. 
"With  a  new  and  fiercely-exciting  idea,  burning 
like  a  meteor-flame  ia  his  brain,  he  determia- 


HAGAB  LOT 


«d  upon  having  an  interview  with  the  child, 
and  questioning  it  respecting  its  origin. 
I    He  had  a  moat  unpleasant  impression,  that 
the  Countees,  by  some   means  or  another,  of 

j-which  he  could  form  no  idea,  had  discovered, 
or  w.ts  near  the  discovery  of  the  secret,  which 

fhad  haunted  him  like  a  fearful  dusky  phantom 

'ever  since  he  had  married  her.    But  surely, 

Jifsbewason  the  verge  of  ascertaining  that 
his  legitimate  wife  had  given  birth  to  a  legiti- 
mate child,  he  ought  to  be  acquainted  with 

jthe  fact  as  soon  as  she. 

I  He  hurried  to  his  room,  and  engaged  Nat's 
services  to  make  inquiries  respecting  the 
child,  and  to  find  out  how  he  could  obtain 

'access  to  her,  without  the  Countess  becoming 

•aware  of  the  fact. 

Nat  went  about  his  work  in  his  usual  eneak- 

'ing,  lurching  way,  but  he  encountered  the 

'greatest  difficulty  in  gathering  any  informa- 
tion respecting  the  child.  His  once  friendly 

j!"  sprig  of  lawender"  was  no  longer  friendly, 
and  he  made  BO  way  with  the  women-folk ; 

I  they  did  not  like  his  look.  Yet  he  connived 
to  ascertain  that  the  child  had  recovered  from 
her  illness,  and  had  departed  from  the  man- 
sion, not  one  of  the  household  knew  whether. 

He  contrived,  too,  sorely  against  his  inclina- 
tion, to  have  a  stormy  interview  with  the 
Countess,  who,  with  a  startling  suddenness, 
pounced  u^on  him  when  alone  in  an  obscure 
part  of  the  house,  where  he  had  no  business  to 
be,  and  whither  she  had  followed  him  unob- 
served, until  it  pleased  her  to  make  her  pres- 
ence known  to  him. 
She  terrified  him  out  of  his  censes — and  the 

;copy  of  the  certificate  which  he  had  obtained 
at  Brighton.  She  charged  him  with  having 
extracted  and  destroyed  the  original  register, 
and  she  threatened  at  once  to  denounce  him, 
give  him  into  the  custody  of  the  police,  and 
cause  him  to  be  transported  for  life,  if  he  did 
not  surrender  the  stolen  leaf,  as  well  as  the 
•opy,  to  her. 

\  Nat  vowed  and  protested,  with  every  assev- 
eration short  of  foul  language,  that  he  had  not 
touched  the  book ;  that  he  had  asked  only  for 
a  copy  of  a  certificate,  and  that  he  had  obtain- 
ed it  by  paving  a  large  price  for  it-  He  swore 

'•with  an  oath  which  extorted  a  short  scream 
from  the  Countess,  that  he  spoke  the  truth, 
and  that  was  all  he  knew  about  it. 

Truth  may  be  simulated,  but  when  it  is  ab- 
solutely spoken,  unaccompanied  by  any  equiv- 
ocatien,  it  carries  its  own  confirmation  with  it 
to  every  but  a  perverted  mind. 

Nat  epoke  the  truth,  and  did  so  so  earnestly, 
and  in  euch  abject  terror,  that  the  Countess 
could  not  but  believe  him. 

Si  Ehe  contented  herself  by  taking  from  him 
the  copy  of  the  certificate  which  he  BO  prized, 
and  which  he  inwardly  promised  himself  to 
steal  from  her  tbe  first  opportunity  which  of- 
fered ifeelf ;  by  making  him  promise  to  faith- 
fully reveal  to  herself  the  Earl's  movements, 
\ogetber  with  the  instructions  he  had  received 
from  him,  and  all  that  happened  in  conse- 
quence thereof;  and  by  menacing  him  with 


every  imaginable  evil  if  he  endeavored  to 
emancipate  himself  from  her  thraldom,  or  di* 
cloee  to  any  person  living,  to  eay  nothing  of 
the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  that  he  was  employed 
by  her,  or  that  the  ever  knew  of  his  ixLiteuce, 
save  ts  a  groom  to  tbe  EarJ. 

That  cone,  she  waited  to  see  the  course 
which  tbe  Earl  would  pursue. 

She  was  not  long  kept  in  euspenee. 

Bertram,  on  learning  that  the  child,  whom 
he  wished  as  anxiously  now  to  see  as  he  had 
been  to  avoid,  had  been  removed  in  secrecy 
from  the  mansion,  it  was  not  known  where,  de- 
termined to  accomplish,  at  every  hazard,  an 
interview  with  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester, 
and  at  that  interview  to  challenge  her  with  the 
existence  of  a  child — tbe  result  of  their  mar- 
riage. He  resolved  to  extort  from  her,  what- 
ever might  be  the  risk,  the  truth  or  falsity  of 
the  euriuiie,  and  to  endeavor  to  bring  to  a 
cloee  the  wretched  condition  of  affairs  in  which 
he  dragged  on  a  discontented,  unhappy  life. 

To  his  surprise  and  mortification,  Nat,  whom 
he  had  set  to  dog  her  movements,  brought 
him  word  that  the  Marquis  and  Marchioness  of 
"Westchester  had,  a  few  days  previously,  quit- 
ted England  'for  a  lengthened  stay ;  but  he 
was  unable  to  ascertain  whither  they  had  gone. 
But  very  few  servants  were  left  at  the  mansion, 
and  they  either  could  not  or  would  not  answer 
the  questions  he  put  to  them. 

The  B*lrl  engaged  the  services  of  a  detective 
officer,  and  in  two  days  the  mdn  informed  him 
that  the  Marquis  and  the  Marchioness  had  pro- 
ceeded by  the  South  Eastern  Railway  to  Folk- 
estone, en  route  to  Paris. 

The  Earl  promptly  made  up  his  mind  to  fol- 
low them.  He  met  the  Countess  that  day  at 
dinner,  treated  her  politely,  and  took  an  op- 
portunity of  informing  her,  during  the  dinner, 
that  his  health  was  wretchedly  broken,  and 
that  he  required  some  decided  change  of  air  ; 
that  he  thought  of  going  immediately  to  Swed- 
en, or  up  the  Nile,  or  St.  Petersburg,  or  Hol- 
land, perhaps  to  Niagara  Falls,  he  had  not 
quite  made  up  his  mind  whither;  but  te  one 
place  or  other  he  felt  that  he  must  go,  and  that 
without  a  day's  loss  of  time. 

The  Countess  remarked  that  he  did  look  as 
though  he  was  pinking  under  the  pressure  of 
an  overburdened  mind,  and  that  a  change 
would  be  beneficial  to  him.  She  quite  agreed 
that  it  would.  She  also  assured  him  that, 
whether  he  journeyed  to  any  of  the  places 
which  he  had  named,  whether  he  went  to  Hol- 
land or  the  Island  of  Madeira,  to  Labrador  01 
to  the  Somali  Land,  to  Greenland  or  to  China, 
that  it  was  her  duty,  as  a  wife,  to  accompany 
him.  She  desired  to  make  no  allusion  to  her 
own  broken  health,  but  if  it  were  a  question  to 
interfere,  with  her  intention  to  accompany  him, 
she  would  waive  that — everything.  Go  she 
would,  and  any  and  every  argument  he  might 
af tempt  to  advance  would  fail  to  move  hep 
from  her  resolution.  Indeed,  she  begged  him 
to  consider  that  he  had  exhausted  every  possi- 
ble argument,  and  had  failed  to  alter  her  de- 
termination. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOH  GIRL. 


"Withersoever  thou  goest,  thither  I  will  go 
too,"  she  concluded,  in  a  firm,  determined 
tone.  *'  And  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  suggest, 
I  propose  that  we  go  to  Italy.  We  shall  there 
meet  some  of  the  English  peerage,  who  have 
already  gone  thither.  Say,  shall  we  go  to 
Italy?' 

He  glared  at  her  savagely,  and  set  his  teeth 
together.    He  struck  the  table  elightly,  bu 
sharply,  with  his  knuckles,  and  said,  with  a  pe 
euliar  tinge  of  ferocity  in  his  tone  : 

"  You  shall  have  ?our  way,  Lady  Brack 
leigh.  We  will  go  to  Italy." 

At  the  expiration  of  two  days,  they  quitted 
London  for  Paris,  Nat  only  accompanying  his 
lordship,  and  the  maid  Subtle  the  Countess. 

While  they  were  spending  their  way  to  the 
gay  capital  of  France,  Floret  was  gathering 
health  and  strength  at  Reigate,  and  gathering 
it,  too,  with  a  kind  of  marvelous  rapidity. 
She  promised  to  be  stronger,  healthier,  and 
sprig htlier  than  she  had  ever  beopa  in  her  life 
before. 

Erery  day  she  accompanied  Susan  and 
Hatty  in  long  walks,  made  mostly  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  Red  Hill ;  for,  twice  or  thrice,  Susan 
had  observed  gipsies  moving  stealthily  about 
on  the  undulating  furze  crested  moor  which 
ikirted  the  Dorking  road.  They  rambled  over 
the  beautiful  and  picturesque  common  at 
Earlswood,  charmed  with  the  prospect,  in  love 
with  the  wild  flowers  which  grow  there  luxur- 
iously in  the  light  sandy  soil,  and  amusing 
themselves  by  gathering  the  many-hued 
sands,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  whole 
neighborhood,  with  the  purpose  of  forming 
them,  by  means  of  glass  receptacles,  into 
humble  but  pretty  ornaments  for" the  table  or 
chimney-piece. 

At  times  they  ascended  the  steep  hill  above 
Seigate,  crossed  the  frail  suspension  bridge, 
and  then,  wandering  through  the  leafy,  sinu- 
ous plantation  beyond,  sparking  and  spangled 
with  myriads  of  buds  and  blossoms,  they 
emerged  upon  one  of  the  finest  views  in  the 
world. 

Ha'ty,  who  was  something  of  a  botanist,  and 
a  very  fair  geographist,  improved  the  occa- 
sion by  expanding  Floret's  mind.  She  gave 
to  her  the  names  of  the  trees  by  which  they 
were  surrounded,  and  most  of  the  plants  and 
flowers ;  explained  the  structure,  and  gave  her 
an  idea  of  their  classification.  She  also  point- 
ed out  the  various  counties  which  are  to  be 
eeen  from  the  chain  of  hills,  upon  one  of  which 
they  stood,  and  made  it  serve  as  the  subject  of 
a  lecture,  which  deeply  interested  Floret,  who 
gazed  upon  the  magnificent  panorama  spread 
before  her,  and  listened  with  avidity  to  every 
word  that  fell  from  Hatty  lips. 

One  evening,  just  after  they  had  taken  their 
tea,  they  were  tempted  by  the  cloudless  SKJ 
and  the  balmy  breeze,  which  blew  softly  and 
sweetly,  fragrance  laden,  in  at  their  open  win 
dow,  to  take  a  stroll,  as  on  that  day  they  had 
not  been  beyond  the  town. 

They  proceeded  to  the  park,  passed  the  seat 
of  Lord  Soraers,  and  following  a  romantic 


winding  path,  gained,  by  a  gradual  aectnt,  the 
top  of  a  hill  which  commands  a  crmrining 
prospect,  and  here  they  seated  themselves  t« 
enjoy  it. 

Floret,  however,  soon  busied  herself  in 
gathering  wild  flowers  among  the  undergrowth 
which  prevails  here,  and  at  the  foot  of  many  a 
tall  and  fine  tree  which  for  centuries  has 
shaded  the  spot  on  which  it  stands. 

Hatty  and  Susan  were  soon  engaged  in  con- 
versation, for  the  state  of  the  exchequer 
of  the  latter  informed  her  that  she  must 
return  to  London,  and  take  up  her  har- 
rassing  occupation  in  order  to  obtain  the  few 
shillings  upon  which  ehe  was  forced  to  exist. 
She  was  occupied  in  arranging  a  future  cor- 
respondence between  herself  and  Susan,  and 
ehe  promised  promptly  to  forward  to  the  lat-- 
ter  any  letter  which  might  arrive  from  Cana- 
da addressed  to  her. 

How  long  they  had  been  thus  engaged  they! 
did  not  know  ;  but  they  rose  up,  for  the  rapid- 
ly-declining sun  admonished  them  to  make 
their  way  back  to  their  cottage. 

.They  looked  for  Floret,  but  she  was  not 
visible. 

They;  called  to  her,  but  she  did  not  answer. 
They  ran  to  and  fro  in  search  of  her,  but 
were  unable  to  find  her. 

At  first  they  both  thought  she  was  playing 
at  hide-and-seek  with  them,  and  Susan  cried 
out  loudly  to  her,  entreating  her  to  appear,  and 
not  to  terrify  them;  but  there  was  no  re-i 
sponse,  save  a  species  of  mocking  echo  of  her 
own  voice. 

Hatty  Ecreamed  loudly,  for  she  grew  fright-' 
ened.  Susan  shrieked,  too,  for  an  instinctive1 
presentiment  of  evil  seized  upon  her.  , 

They  both  ran  wildly  to  and  fro,  hunting 
breathlessly  among  the  gorse  bushes,  in  the 
hollows,  in  every  place  where  she  could  hide,* 
be  secreted,  or  have  fallen,  but  in  vain,  for' 
there  was  no  trace  of  her. 

Hatty,  at  her  own  suggestion,  ran  toward 
the  town  for  assistance,  while  Susan  distract-1 
edly  continued  her  search. 

Men  returned  with  Hatty,  men  wio  were 
well  acquainted  withe  every  foot  of  ground,' 
and  they  aided  in  the  search.  They  kept  it  up 
until  dawn,  going  over  a  circuit  of  many  miles,' 
but  without  succees.  j 

Susan,  exhausted  and  delirious,  was  convey-' 
ed,  by  the  directions  of  Hatty,  who  was  her 
self  in  a  fainting  condition,  ^to  the  cottage 
which  they  had  quitted  the 'evening  before 
with  such  placid  contentment,  and  there  laid 
upon  a  bed  from  which  it  was  long  ere  she 
arose.  j 

Hatty,  however,  remained  with  her,  and  re-! 
gardless  of  her  own  future,  played  the  pait  of 
a  true  and  and  disinterested  friend,  until  So-j 
san  recovered  health  and  strength  enough  to 
move  about  and  act  for  herself. 

Floret,  who  was  the  cause  of  all  this  sorrow 
and  sickness,  was  deeply  engaged  in  collect- 
ng  flowers  and  arranging  them  into  a  beauti-' 
*ul  bouquet,  with  a  skill  and  aptness  which 
showed  that  she  had  lost  none  of  toe  art  which 


HAGAII  LOT  ; 


Bfie  bad  been  compelled  to  exerciae  from  almost 
infancy. 

"  It  is  not  BO  pretty  a  nosegay  as  I  could 
wish,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as  she  sat 
tinder  a  huge  cluster  of  underwood,  which  was 
adorned  at  its  roots  with  many  simple  and 
beautiful  flowers.  "  But  yet,  if  Victor  were 
here,  I  would  give  it  to  him,  aad  tell  bim  that 
I  would  have  made  it  much  prettier  if  I  could. 
Victor  is  such  a  pretty  name  :  V  I  C  T  0  R 
— Victor,  Lord  Victor  ;  how  grand  and  beau- 
tiful it  sounds.  Ah  !  I  am  now  sure  he  did  not 
mean  to  acorn  me  when  he  gave  me  that 
money.  I  am  eure  that  he  did  not — and  when 
I  see  him  again,  I  shall  eay  to  him—" 
[  "  Sixteen  bunches  a-penntfe,  sweet  lavenders 
— sixteen  bunches  a-pennee,"  whispered  a 
i  voice,  cloee  in  her  ear. 

I  A  terrified  shriek  burst  from  her  lips,  but  it 
was  suppressed  by  some  heavy  material  which 
was  flung  over  her,  and  in  which  she  was 
,wrapped  closely.  She  felt  herself  lifted  from 
the  ground  and  borne  away,  then  her  senses 
forsook  her. 

}  When  consciousness  was  restored  to  her,  she 
found  herself  by  a  fire,  in  a  closely- wooded 
plantation  ;  two  or  three  gipsies,  with  swarthy 
faces  and  glittering  eyes,  were  lying  about, 
close  at  hand,  watching  her.  Before  her,  grin- 
Ding  like  an  ancient  and  bloated  hyena,  was 
the  Grannam.  A  pair  of  arms  were  round  her 
tightly,  but  not  so  as  to  hurt,  and  a  voice  was 
whispering  in  her  ear. 

It  was  that  of  Daddy  Windy. 

"  My  Vite  Rose— my  Vite  Ecse,  my  own 
Vild  Vite  Rose.  Open  its  wi'let  eyes,  and  say 
putty  things  to  its  own  Daddy — its  own  Daddy, 
who's  as  pleased  to  'ave  it  back  again  vith  him 
as  if  he'd  got  in  hia  'ands  twice  the  fortin'  it's 
goin'  to  earn  for  'im." 

1  For  a  minute,  Floret  listened  to  his  words. 
All  the  while  she  stared  as  if  she  was  in  a 
dream. 

'  Then  she  uttered  one  kng,  wild,  quivering 
shriek,  which  pierced  the  brains  of  those  who 
heard  it,  made  the  recumbent  men  spring  on 
to  their  bands  and  knees,  the  Grannam  to  half 
rise  up,  the  Daddy  to  mutter  something  very 
rapidly,  and  to  place  his  hand  over  her  mouth. 

"  Hush,  my  lily-bloom,"  he  whispered,  ex 
'citedly;  "hush!  listen  to  reason,  vite  star 
'droy— listen  to  Daddy,  silver  blossom.  There 
'ain't  no  perlice  near  for  many  a  mile  ;  there 
iain't  no  noth«n  to  heer  you,  accept  the  howl  or 
'the  rooks  in  their  nestes  atop  o'  the  tall  ellums 
[ — so  don't  go  to  try  an'  spile  your  bootiful 
jvoice,  vich  is  sveeter  than  the  dripping  o' 
jvater  in  a  still  lake,  or  the  moosic  o'  the  sum- 
*mer  breeze  as  chaBts  through  leaves  and  flow- 
vers  in  the  voodlands,  or  the  chink  o'  two  new 
'suv'rins  a  knockin' themselves  together  for  joy 
in  Daddy's  pocket,  acoe  they  knows  they 
i  brings  delight  to  the  'art  of  a  poor  old  cripple 
like  Daddy.  Don't  be  afeard,  Vite  Rose,  ould 
Daddy  loves 'is  vte  silver  bell  too  veil— toe 
•veil  to  'arm  her.  No,  he'd  sooner  cut  hieself 
'off  his  own  stalk  than  'urt  an  'air  o'  the  putty 
the  flowverof 'is  'eart" 


But  he  spoke  to  a  heedless  car.  Floret 
when  she  screamed  so  frantically  and  so  af- 
frightedly,  had  tossed  up  her  arms  wildly,  and 
had  struggled  sharply  for  a  moment ;  but 
they  now  lay  listlessly  by  her  side.  She  had 
Telapsed  into  a  state  of  insensibility  again. 

The  Grannam  saw  this,  and  she  whispered! 
tf>  him : 

"  She  is  gone  back  into  a  swoon — lay  her 

on  the   bed   in   the  tent,  that'll  be  the  best 

thing  for  'er.    I'll  vatch  her,  an'  ven  she  comes 

to,  most  like  she'll  drop  into  a  plessint  sleep 

that  vill  be  best  for  all  on  us.    Ven  (she  vakes 

I  up,  you  can  talk  to  her  ag'in,  old  man  of  all, 

j  like  a  far-tber,  an'  she'll  listen  to  reason,  I'll 

swear,  an'  if  she  don't — " 

"  You  von't  'ave  occasion  to  tell  me  vot'll 
be  the  best  thing  to  do,"  interrupted  the  Dad- 
!  dy,  in  a  peculiarly  significant  tone.  "Vich  I 
shall 'ave  my  own  vay  vith  the  Vhite  Rose. 
;  Don't  you  perwoke  me,  Dianner,  I  say,  don't 
'you  perwoke  me.  I'm  werry  mild  by  natur', 
but  a  tiger  gets  out  o'  temper  sometimes.  1 
knows  vot  to  do  vith  the  Vhite  Rose." 

He  rose  up  gradually  as  he  spoke,  and  lifted 
Floret  with  him ;  he  tottered  to  the  semi-cir- 
cular tent,  whicu,  was  pitched  upon  a  dry 
spot  close  at  hand,  and  laid  her  carefully  with-, 
in  it. 

He  let  the  curtains  drop  gently  before  the 
entrance,  and  then  toddled  slowly  back  to  the 
fire.  Seating  himself  down  by  it,  he  drew  ont 
his  pipe,  and  lighting  it,  commenced  to  smoke, 
while  lie  gazed  at  the  burning  embers  thought- 
fully. 

Suddenly,  a  hand  was  placed  upon  Ins  shoul- 
der ;  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  beheld,  bending 
over  him,  the  beautiful  but  stern  and  melan- 
choly face  of  Hagar  Lot. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

'•Now  rent 

His  brackish  curls  and  tore  his  wrinkled  face, 
Where  tears  in  billows  did  each  otLer  chase  ; 
And,  burst  with  ruth,  he  hurled  his  marble  mace 

At  the  stern  Fates  *  *  * 

******* 

0  thievish  Fates  to  let—' 

— CHRISTOPHER  MARLOWE. 

The  attitude  of  Daddy  Windy  the  moment 
previous  to  the  appearance  of  Hagar  Lot  was 
one  of  perfect  repose  and  complacency.  As 
he  gazed  at  the  sputtering,  ecintillant  burning 
t*igs  and  branches,  which  made  a  fire  that 
looked  cheerful  in  that  dark  and  lonely  place, 
he  did  so  with  the  aspect  of  a  man  who,  hav- 
ing been  long  engaged  in  pursuing  some  ob- 
ject of  considerable  importance  to  his  pecuni- 
ary interests,  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
it,  and  gives  himself  up  to  quiet,  agreeable, 
satisfactory,  and  self-gratulatory  reflections. 

The  visions  which  began  to  float  before  his 
smiling,  winking  eyes,  clothed  in  the  sanguine 
radiance  of  confident  hopes,  were  rudely  dis- 
pelled by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  appari- 
tion of  Hagar  Lot. 

The  eight  of  her  made  every  drop  of  blood 
jU  the  Daddy's  veins  hurry  back  to  his  heart. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


He  Mt  as  if,  laving  had  a  puree  of  goM  in  his 
pocket,  he  had  just  discovered  its  loss  through 
an  uncalculated  hole  in  the  latter. 

A  silent  conviction  stole  over  him  that  Ha- 
gar  had  come  to  claim  the  White  Rose,  and 
to  take  her  from  him.  He  mentally  register- 
ed a  fearfal  oath  that  she  should  not  have  her, 
if  he  could  prevent  her,  and  he  thought  he 
knew  how  to  do  that — even  if  he  murdered 
her. 

He  looked  up  at  her,  grinned,  and  wicked 
at  her  with  both  eyes. 

"  Vy,  H*gar,  my  dark  dahlia,  is  it  you? — 
aha  !  aha!  Who'd  a  thought  a  seein'  on  you 
jesfc  now ;  I'm  sure  I  didn't." 

He  roae  up  irom  his  recumbent  position, 
and  extended  both  hands  to  her. 

She  did  not  touch  them. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  me,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  Lo,  I  am  here!" 

A  thought  of  her  certainly  had  crossed  tis 
mind  while  he  was  contemplating  the  future 
which.  Floret  would  probably  make  for  him. 
It  was  but  a  momentary  conceit,  because  it 
was  she  who  had  intrusted  at  the  outset  Floret 
to  his  chargei  It  flitted  away  as  rapidly  as  it 
appeared  but  as  it  went  he  felt  the  procure  of 
Hagar'a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  face 
turned  a  very  sickly,  death-like  yellow. 

"  Veil,  I  vos,  my  sloe-blossom,"  he  returned, 
hesitatingly.  '  Talk  of  the  infernal  party, 
they  see,  an'  you  sees  yon  o'  the  family !  Now, 
my  dark  pearl,  I—" 

"  You  thought  of  me,"  she  interrupted,  "  in 
connection  with  another.  You  need  not  hesi- 
tate— I  know  it.  It  ia  of  "her  I  am  here  to 
speak  with  you." 

She  turned  to  the  gipsies,  and  to  the  Gran- 
nam,  ani  pointing  to  the  opposite  direction  to 
that  in  wuich  the  tent  had  been  erected,  she 
said,  in  a  commanding  voice : 

'•  Go,  s  11  of  yeu,  down  the  path  yonder.  I 
must  have  some  secret  talk  with  the  Daddy. 
Watch,  too,  well,  for  danger  to  all  of  you  men- 
aces from  that  quarter." 

The  men  obeyed  readily,  but  the  Grannam 
uttered  a  protest.  She  was  unable  to  see  the 
propriety  of  leaving  a  snug  fireside  for  a  cold 
aud  damp  position,  in  a  gloomy  spot. 

Hflgar,  however,  introduced  her  to  the  ne-» 
cessity  of  obeying. 

"  Go !"  she  exclaimed,  stamping  her  foot. 
"  Go !"  she  repeated,  and  placing  her  face 
near  to  the  Grannam's,  she  said,  in  a  low, 
stern  tone  :  "  Obey  me,  or  you  may  not  ap- 
prove of  the  flavor  of  your  drink  when  next 
you  tiste  it." 

The  Grannam  shuddered  and  rolled  away 
With  ea  quick  a  step  as  she  could  manage. 

"  Hagar's  a  norful  woman,"  she  soliloquized ; 
"I  aUus  said  eo." 

When  they  were  left  aloae,  Hagar  turned  to 
the  Daddy,  and  said  : 

"  You  guees— you  know  why  I  am  here  ?'' 

The  Daddy  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
Bbiny,  g'izzly  locks,  and  muttered : 

"It  ain't  fcD  refresh  your  eyesight  with  a 


look  at  my  picter,  I  s'pose  ;  nor  it  ain't  to  p*y 
me  the  trifle  as  you  promised  me  ven  I  first 
took  the  Vite  Roae  under  my  perental  viog  ; 
nor  it  ain't  to  tell  my  fortin'  by  the  stars,  if  I 
vos  to  cross  your  palm  vith  a  silver  piece. 
No,  my  pupple  night-bloom,  it  ain't  no  use 
my  guessing.  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  be 
'ere  in  this  saloobrous  plantation  a  readin'  the 
stars  this  blessed  night,  SD  I  couldn't  werry 
veil  espect  the  pleasure  o'  seein'  your  'ansom 
countynouse  'ere,  an',  o'  course,  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  know  vy  you  are  'ere,  or  vot  you  are 
'ere  for." 

*'  I  will  tell  you,"  she  rejoined,  emphatically. 
"  The  White  Rose." 

He  turned  his  face  rather  sharply  to  her, 
and  put  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

"  O  yes,"  he  exclaimed,  speaking  quickly, 
"  ve  all  on  us  come  out  for  suthen,  an'  some  on 
us  come  out  raythsr  etrong.  You've  come  out 
for  the  Vite  Rose,  Hagar,  'ave  you?" 

"I  have.  I  shall  take  her  away  with  me  to- 
night," returned  she,  with  a  firm,  resolute  tone. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  with  a  savage  grin ; 
"  yes,  a  'ooman  is  mighty  fond  of  her  own 
vay.  You  'ave  come  out  rayther  strong,  Ha- 
gar— rayther  strong,  I  must  say  ;  but  I'm 
afeard  you  vill  go  agen  vith  a  veaker  crett 
than  you  left  'ome  vith.  Don't  you  know 
the  Vite  Rose  was  stole  away  from  me,  Hagar, 
last  Arscot  Cup  day  ?" 

"  I  do,  and  I  know  who  took  her  from  you. 
I  was  at  your  side  when  it  occurred,  though 
you  Bbw  me  not,"  she  rejoined.  "Since  your 
release  from  prison,  you  have  not  moved  a 
step  without  my  knowledge.  I  know  that  you 
have  been  tracking  the  White  Rose  to  her 
parterre  ;  I  know  that  yon  this -evening  seized 
her  while  she  was  gathering  some  flowers. 
You  have  brought  her  here.  She  ii  in  yonder 
tent." 

"  Very  veil,  blooming  nightshade,"  he  re- 
sponded, slowly,  with  trembling  jaws  ;  "  very 
veil,  I've  'eered  many  vider  guesses  at  facts 
than  those  'ere.  But,  suppose  all  you  hev 
said  is  werry  true,  vot  then,  Hagar,  my  ivy 
plant,  vot  then  ?" 

"  I  am  here  to  claim  her,"  she  responded,  in 
decided  tones. 

"  Vich  I  don't  dispute,  my  Star- o'- toe-night," 
he  rejoined.  "  I  know'd  a  man  vonce,  who  gev 
a  small  an'  rayther  putty -looking  pup  to  anoth- 
er: 'There,'  ees  he,  'you  can  keep  that,5  ees 
he,  'an'  bring  it  up  as  your  own,'  ses  he. 
'  Some  day,  ven  the  blue  moon's  at  the  full,  a 
party  may  claim  it— it  may  be  on  the  third 
Susday  in  the  veek,  vich  never  comes.'  Ha- 
gar, my  dark-eyed  passion-flower,  the  blue 
moon  ain't  yet  in  its  fust  kevaw.^er ;  the  fust 
Sunday  in  the  veek  has  on'y  just  turned,  and 
never  is  eich  a  werry  long  day,  it  ain't  turned 
up  yet.  Do  you  understand  me,  Flower  of  the 
Dark  Hemlock?" 

She  looked  at  him  sternly,  and  frowned. 

"  That  you  refuse  to  part  with  the  White 
Rose  ?  Yes,"  ehe  answered.  "  Have  you  re- 
flected ?  Has  the  asge  night-owl  changed  to  a 
mouthing  rook?" 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


"The  owl  is  a  vise  thing,  Hagar,"  he  re- 
sponded, quickly  ;  "  but  the  rook  id  a  cunning 
bird,  too.  Vich  hever  you  takes  me  to  be,  I 
eaii  part  vith  the  Vite  Rose  no^  more — never  no 
more."  He  clenched  his  hands,  he  set  hie  teeth 
together.  "  Never  no,  more,"  he  repeated. 
\  **  I  placed  hef  in  your  keeping  for  a  time 
only,"  she  rejoined,  sternly.  "  You  were  paid 
to  keep  her  for  a  certain  period,  and  that  has 
now  terminated.  Yon  would  have  had  the  s'i- 
pend  which  I  promised  to  you  paid  regularly  ; 
but  you,  in  your  cunning,  sought  to  keep  ou1; 
of  my  path — to  avoid  me — to  make  a  profit 
out  of  the  beauty  of  the  White  Rose,  which 
you  fancied  I  should  expect  to  share,  but  which 
you  resolved  to  keep  entirely  to  yourself. 
Your  wanderings,  your  movements  were  never 
unknown  to  me.  I  could  any  moment,  at  will, 
have  appeared  before  you,  and  have  taken  her 
from  you  ;  but  the  time  had  not  come.  It  has 
arrived  now.  I  take  her  from  you  this  night ; 
but  I  bid  you  beware  how  you  attempt  to  fol- 
low or  seek  again  to  get  her  into  your  power, 
as  you  have  done  a  few  hours  back.  Your  con- 
nection with  her,  from  this  hour,  has  ceased 
forever." 

"I  don't  see  it,'1    interposed  the  Daddy, 

Suickly  ;  "  my  eyesight  ain't  quite  so  sharp  as 
;  vp3,  certain'y,  an'  I  don't  see  vot  you've 
been  pointin'  out  to  me.  But,  Hagar,  'ooman," 
he  added,  changing  his  voice  to  a  growl,  "  I 
don't  p  irt  vith  the  Vite  Rose  :  she's  the  happle 
o'  my  hi — she's  my  beat  tooth— she's  the  last 
pulee  o'  my  'art — the  last  blood-drop  in  my 
weins— the  last  sigh  out  o'  my  body*  I  parts 
vith  her  ven  I  parts  vith  them,  an'  not  before. 
Leastvays,  I  do  not  part  with  her  until  that 
werry,  werry  large  heap  o'  goold  vich  those 
who  can  pay  me  liberaMy — you  remember  your 
own  vords,  star  o'  the  dark  copse — puts  down 
afore  me,  saying  to  me :  « Ve  are  dukes  an' 
princess ;  you  are  a  poor  old  Daddy — you  takes 
the  goold  an'  ve  the  Vite  Rose.'  Do  you  un- 
derstand me  yet,  pearl  of  our  tribe  ?" 

"  You  have  more  to  say,"  she  answered,  in  a 
gloomy,  determined  tone.  "  Say  all  that  is 
lurking  in  your  mind,  and  then  hear  my  last 
words." 

'•Then,  Hagar,  'ooman,  the  star  vich  peeped 
out  in  the  eky  ven  I  vos  brought  into  the  vorld, 
beneath  the  dew-dripping  leaves  of  briars  and 
thorns,  in  the  depths  of  a  hold,  hold  'ood,  is 
growin'  paler  an'  fainter  every  day,  an'  night, 
an'  hour.  I  mayn't  per'aps  number  as  many 
more  months  as  I  'ave  years ;  an'  therefore, 
life  is  werry  sweet  to  me.  "  I  knows  you  'ave 
a  death-^ealin'  power ;  but  eo  'ave  I,  'ooman — 
BO  'ave  I,  0  flowverin'  henbane !  an'  if  you  say 
von  other  vord  to  me,  on'y  von  other  vord1' — 
he  drew  a  clasp-knife  from  his  pocket,  and 
opeEed  it—'- 1  vill  spring  like  a  vild  cat  into 
yonder  tent,  an'  send  the  Vite  Rose  to  the  wal- 
ley  o'  B  ladders  :  that's  I  think,  about  all  I  'ave 
to  say,  H^gar."  "  It  is  tcough,"  8he  saicl,  as 
hs  ce  ieed,  "  enough  to  make  me  laugh  at,  and 
to  sec  rm  you;  to—" 

She  paused  ;  for  a  night-bird  abruptly  sent 
forlh  *  shrill,  trembling,  plaintive  cry. 


She  listened  eagerly,  until  the  sound  died 
away,  and  then  she  proceeded — 

'•  To  wonder  and  marvel  at  you.  Yeu  know 
that  you  cannot  brave  my  power— you  feel 
that,  and  tremble!  The  few  wretched  years 
you  have  to  live  can  be  but  little  brightened 
and  gilded,  though  a  mound  of  wealth  were 
given  you  to  surrender  the  White  Rose,  and  they 
may  be  darkened,  blighted  by  your  obstinacy.  I 
have  told  you  that  I  claim  the  White  Rose,  and 
that  from  thia  moment  your  title  to  touch  her 
even  has  ceased.  Shut  up  your  knife,  old  man. 
I  could  lay  you  a  blackened,  ewolleo,  putrid 
corse  upon  the  turf,  ere  you  could  advance 
three  feet  toward  the  tent !  But  I  am  not  here 
to  do  deeds  of  violence,  or  to  urge  you  to  at- 
tempt to  commit  a  crime  which  would  be  fatal 
to  you.  I  could  call  upon  the  men  of  our 
tribe,  who  have  aided  you,  and  who  have  just 
lefi  this  copse,  to  carry  away  the  Wnite  Rose 
whithersoever  I  directed  them — " 

"Over  my  dead  body !"  growled  the  Daddy, 
champing  his  words  iu'his  excitement. 

"  What,  then,  if  I  willed  that  sbe  should  go?" 
rejoined  Hagar.  "I  csuld  summon  others  of 
f:ie  tribe,  who  would  pin  you  %>  the  ground 
like  a' mole,  if  you  attempted  to  interfere  with 
my  assumption  of  my  right  to  resume  my  cus- 
tody of  the  White  Rose ;  but  I  have  oSher 
end*  than  to  quarrel  with  you,  old  man — " 

*l  I'm  a  nettle — I  am,"  interposed  the  Daddy, 
with  a  savage  grin  ;  "  not  a  budding  plant,  but 
a  fu fi.  grown,  prickly,  stinging,  blistering  nettle 
— an'  mind  how  you  touch  me !" 

"  N"ett'ies  are  harmless,  when  seized  with  a 
firm  grip,"  returned  Hjgar.  "  You  might 
have  chosen  a  more  apt  illustration.  I  am  a 
poisoned  thorn,  which,  once  in  your  flesh,  can- 
not be  extracted,  and  will  swely  drag  you  to 
your  doom,  if  you  oppose  me.  Still,  as  I  have 
said,  I  have  ends  to  serve  which  will  render  a 
quarrel  wi^h  you  an  error — a  serious  fault.  I 
may  hereafter  need  you  as  a  witness  ;  I  would 
not  have  you  play  the  part  of  unwilling  one, 
I  therefore  leave  you  to-night  to  reflect  over 
what  I  have  said.  You  must  surrender  the 
White  Rose  to  me—" 

"  Immedjetlee  a'ter  you  hev  tumbled  me  on 
to  the  turf  a  blackened,  svolleo,  pootrid  corpse, 
as  you  hev  'andsomely  promissed  to  do,"  he 
interrupted.  "But  not  afore,  my  dark-eyed 
blossom — not  afore  ?" 

"  Be  it  so,"  she  returned,  flinging  her  cloak 
over  her  mouth  and  shoulders  ;  "  further  par- 
ley with  you  is  useless." 

"  Werry  useless,  if  you  'opes  to  parky  ine 
out  o'  the  Vite  Rose  1"  he  exclaimed. 

"You  will  wish,  when  the  dawn  comes,  that 
you  had  consented  to  my  demand,"  replied 
Hagar,  with  a  strangely  meaning  smile. 
*•  Farewell !  we  shall  meet  when  I  have  need  of 
your  services,  not  when  your  heart's  bursting 
to  find  me." 

She  glided  into  the  darkness,  which  covered 
the  space  a  few  feet  beyond  them,  and  in  an 
instant,  almost,  he  lost  the  sound  of  her  foot- 
steps. 

He  nodded  MB  head  and  winked  both  eyes  ; 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


23 


he  wagged  hia  jaws  with  a  savage  grin ;  he 
looked  with  a  ferecious  leer,  and  then  he  crept 
stealthily  to  the  tent. 

During  hia  colloquy  with  Hftgftr,  the  fire 
had  nearly  burnt  itself  out,  and  hia  eyes,  keen 
aa  they  were,  were  not  able  to  penetrate  the 
darknesa  beneath  the  tent,  but  he  placed  hia 
hand  inside  and  felt  a  raotionlesa  form — ita 
hand  and  arm  were  warm,  and  so  waa  ita  face. 

It  moved  aa  he  passed  hia  hand  over  ita  vel- 
vet cheek,  and  elightly  moaned. 

"  Ho-o-sh — ho  o-sh  I"  he  hissed  between  hia 
lips;  "hoosh-a-by,  baby,  on  the  -tree-tcp! 
Hoosh,  my  pooty  vite  doe— hoosh  I  Sleep  till 
dawn,  chuck— sleep  till  dawn,  an'  ve'll  be  over 
the  'ilia  an'  far  avay,  an'  chase  the  'ours  nvay 
like  butterflies  in  a  garding  full  o'  flowvers— 
hoosh !" 

The  child  became  still,  and  he  listened 
anxiously  to  her  breathing.  Presently  he  mut- 
tered— 

"  It's  all  right ;  she  sleeps  comfortably.  I 
shall  be  werry  eorry  ven  the  dawn  comes, 
shall  I  ?  I  shall  viah  I'd  druv  her  avay,  shall 
I  ?  Partner,  you  didn't  think  that  o'  me,  did 
yer  ?  You  didn't  think  me  quite  such  a  hold, 
anshent  Je-roosalem  aa  that,  pardner,  did 
yer  f  " 

With  that  he  chuckled,  and  then  he  whistled 
a  lengthened,  but  not  loud  note. 

It  was  responded  to  by  the  re-appearance"of 
the  gipsies,  who  had  retired,  and  the  Grannara. 

The  Daddy  pointed  to  the  fire,  and  said,  in 
a  low,  but  sharp  tone : 

'*  Make  up  that  'ere  into  a  bright,  crackling 
blaze,  for  I'm  werry  chilly — I'm  werry  cold — 
I've  been  in  a  snow -storm,  I  'ave.  An'  look'ee 
here,  you  boye— an'  specially  you,  O,  my 
Dianner — I'am  goin*  to  lay  down  in  front  of 
the  tent,  verein  is  slumbering  the  Vite  Rose,  as 
'appy  as  a  cat  in  a  lady's  maff.  In  my  'and 
vill  be  thia  ere  knife,  open,  and  ready  for  ioi- 
medjet  use.  Ib  has  pison  on  the  pint — pison 
that  kills  vith  EO  cure.  Now,  me  and  my 
pardner  'specs  that,  in  the  dead  'our,  just  afore 
the  birds  vtxkea  up  and  viatles  their  pooty 
mooeick,  eombody  vill  drop  in  'ere  on  the 
sneak,  and  try  to  steal  my  Vite  Rose  from  me ; 
but  if  I  am  caught  napping,  pardner  '11  'ave 
Ton  eye  hoppen,  an',  aa  vot  he  dooa  I  doos, 
veil  together  be  the  death  o'  that  ere  some- 
body if  they  tries  it  on.  The  Vite  Rose  ia 
mine.  I  don't  part  vith  her,  unless  I  makes  a 
present  o'  my  ghost  to  the  party  aa  gets  her 
avay.  But  vot  I  vant  all  on  yeu  to  under- 
stand is,  that  you  mustn't  valk  about  this  little 
spot  In  your  sleep,  nor  in  your  vaking.  You 
might  come  lumbering  agin  me,  kick  my  shins, 
or  drop  your  'ob  nails  on  my  'and ;  in  that 
'ere  case,  I  and  my  pardner  might  fancy  as 
somebody  had  dropped  in  on  the  prowl  a'ter 
the  Vite  Rose.  Ifve  does  make  a  mistake,  it 
von't  be  our  fault,  but  yourn ;  an'  the  Lord 
'elp  you  if  you  do.  You  von't  get  over  it. 
That's  all. 

He  flung  himself  down  upon  the  turf  in 
front  of  the  tent,  so  that  no  one  could  approach 
it  without  his  knowledge  or  sanction.  He 


placed  his  hand  once  more  inside  the  tent,  to 
assure  himself  that  Floret  waa  still  inside,  and 
then  he  reclined  hia  shoulder  against  ic,  and 
went  on  smoking  hia  pipe,  plunged  in  a  fit  of 
abstraction.  | 

He  continued  awake  for  a  long  time,  but  he 
glided  off  into  a  heavy  eleep  while  he  thought 
he  was  still  awake.  His  pipe  dropped  from 
hia  hand  as  he  believed  himself  to  be  upon  a 
race- course  with  Floret,  who,  he  thought,  was 
in  his  sight,  but  separated  frooi  him  by  knots 
of  people.  And  he  fancied  he  had  lost  the 
basket  of  flowers  with  whieb,  he  supplied  Flo- 
ret as  fast  as  she  sold  those  she  had  had  for 
sale.  And  he  imagined  that  the  Gr*Dnaru  had 
got  his  hat,  and  coat,  and  boots,  and  stock- 
ings, and  waa  nowhere  to  be  seen,  a&d  he  was, 
in  fact,  in  great  trouble. 

He  awoko  suddenly,  and,  to  hia  relief,  he 
found  it  was  a  dream. 

But  he  found,  also,  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  party  of  his  tribe — men,  women,  and 
children— numbering  at  least  thirty. 

They  stood  silently  in  a  circle  round  him, 
and  awaited  hia  awakening. 

He  still  held,  clenched  in  his  hand,  the 
knife  with  the  poisoned  point,  ready  for  instant 
use. 

Tbe  Grannam  had  communicated  to  them 
the  Daddy's  last  injunctions  before  he  retired 
to  sleep.  None  of  them  fait  equal  to  belling 
tbe  cat,  by  placitg  their  hands  upon  hia 
shoulder,  to  awaken  him,  so  they  waited  until 
consciousness  should  unseal  his  ejea. 

Aa  soon  as  he  became  aware  of  the  pres- 
ence of  so  large  a  number  of  his  people,  Le 
scrambled  up,  and  wanted  to  know  what  it  all 
meant. 

Then  a  woman  stepped  forward,  and  said  to 
him : 

"  I  want  my  little  white  thorn,  Ezar  ?" 

"  Do  yer  ?  '  he  responded,  with,  an  inquiring 
stare;  "do  yerra'ally?  You  can't  'ave  her. 
I  'ave  never  seed  her — I  'ave  cover  heerd  on 
her  before.  I  don't  kno  w  vere  she  ia — but  you 
can  'ave  her." 

"  Hagar  Lot  begged  her  from  me  last  night 
to  bring  to  you,"  responded  the  woman  who 
had  spoken.  "  She  said  that;  she  was  a  wild 
white  rose,  whom  you  would  like  to  rear ;  that 
you  would  be  very  fond  of  it,  more  kind  and 
tender  than  a  grand'ther  to  it ;  that  you  would 
nurture  it,  and  tend  it  till  it  became  a  beauti- 
ful flower ;  and  that  then  you  would,  perhaps, 
make  it  a  house-dweller,  with  the  means  to  live 
like  a  lady,  instead  of  as  a  wanderer.  But 
Micah,  her  father,  will  not  part  with  her ;  so 
we  are  here  to  claim  her  back." 

"I  won't  part  wi'  my  hawthorn-blossom  for 
non't,"  exclaimed  a  stern,  dogged-looking 
young  man,  with  black  hair,  brown  face,  amd 
fierce-looking  black  eyes.  "  She  wur  born  ia 
the  free  air,  to  live  a  free  life ;  she  shall  be  no 
house  dweller.  Gipsy  bred,  gipsy  dead.  So, 
old  man,  give  me  back  Ezar,  our  lidla  white- 
thorn blossom." 

The  changes  which  went  over  the  face  of 
Daddy  Windy,  while  both  the  woman  and  the 


IIAGAR  LOT  ; 


man  were  speaking,  were  something  awful 
to  witness.  He  glanced  from  one  to  an- 
other, and  listened  like  ono  in  eome  frightful 
dream. 

I  Suddenly,  with  a  wild,  frantic  screech,  he 
dashed  at  the  tent,  and  dragged  forth  its  ten- 
ant bv  the  arms. 

I  It  was  a  child,  dressed  in.  a  very  homely 
garb. 

r  He  held  it  tightly  by  the  shoulders,  TIB, 
kneeling  down,  he  glared  in  its  face. 

lie  looked  upon  the  brown  face  and  deep 
blue  eyes  of  an  unmistakable  young  female 
gipey  child,  though  she  Lai  long,  yellow,  san- 
dy locks. 

He  uttered  a  howl  of  despair,  as  he  flung  her 
from  him  iuto  the  burning  embers,  from  which 
she  was  rescued  by  her  mother,  her  father 
making  a  gesture  as  if  he  would  rush  upon  the 
Daddy  and  strangle  him. 

He  was,  however,  restrained  by  those  wfco 
were  snear  him,  and  who  looked  with  woncer 
and  awe  upon  the  proceedings  of  the  Daddy. 

Howling  like  a  maniac,  he  crawled  into  the 
tent,  and  tossed  over  its  contents,  in  vaiu 
search  for  Floret.  She  was  not  there. 

She  had  disappeared,  and  net  a  trace  of  her 
was  left  behind. 

He  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  temples — his 
eyes,  his  throat ;  and  then,  with  a  demoniacal, 
guttural  growl,  brandishing  his  knife  in  the 
air,  he  dashed  off  in  the  direction  which  hero- 
inembered  Hagar  to  have  taken  the  night  pre- 
viously. 

Grannam,  with  husky  tones,  hastily  in- 
structed those  gipsies  who  belonged  to  their 
party,  to  strike  their  tent,  and  follow  as  soon 
as  they  could. 

"  He  will  do  Hagar  a  mischief,"  she  cried ; 
"  he  will  kill  her." 

"  He  will  bring  upon  him  the  curse  and  the 
ban  of  the  tribe,  if  he  do,"  exclaimed  an  old, 
elf- locked  woman  in  the  group.  "  The  turned 
face,  tb,e  back  of  the  hand,  the  sole  of  the  foot, 
A  long  rope,  a  stout  branch,  and  no  mercy  for 
him  if  he  do." 

"Follow,  follow,"  cried  the  Grannam,  wring- 
ing nor  hands.  "  Hagar's  a  norful  woman, 
but  he's  anorfuller  man.  Hi!  hi!  hi!  Old 
man  of  all,  stop !  stay !  Let  me  speak  to  you ! 
Hi!  old  man  of  ail!  stay  for  Dianner!  0! 
0!  CM" 

She  darted  off  after  the  Daddy,  followed  by 
B^me  of  the  nimblest  of  the  men,  while  a  few 
remained  behind  to  pack  up  their  traps,  and 
bring  up  the  rear. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Poor  little  thing  !    She  was  as  fair  as  docile, 

And  with  that  gentle,  serious  character, 
As  rare  in  living  bsia^s  as  a  fossil 
Man,  'midst  thy  mouldy  Mammoths,  '  grand  Cu- 

yier!" 
Ill-fitted,  with  her  ignorance,  to  Jostle 

Wiih  this  o'erwhelmlng  world,  where  all  must  err : 
But  she  was  yet  but  ten  y  ears  old,  and  therefore 
"Was  tranquil,  though  she  knew  uot  why  or  wherefore." 

— BYROIT. 

Floret  had  been  placed  by  Daddy  "Windy 
scarcely  a  minute  within  the  gipsy  tent,  when 


the  col 3  night  air,  which  stole  in  at  the  en- 
trance, revived  her. 

Sail  in  a  delicate  state  of  health  when  seized 
and  made  prisoner  so  abruptly  by  the  Daddy, 
she,  fiom  mere  physical  weakness,  fainted  with 
flight,  on  finding  heraelf  once  more  in  the  grip 
of  Mm  whom  ehe  feared  more  than  all  other 
men.  "While  borne  to  the  spot  in  which  he, 
with  such  Eeemicg  tenderness,  had  deposited 
her,  she  had  undergone  a  succession  of  swoons, 
occasioned  *by  the  panic  which  bad  seized  her 
acting  upon  a  mind  greatly  weakened  by  her 
severe  attack  of  iilnees.  Each  time  bhe  had 
opened  her  eyes,  ehe  had  seen  the  Daddy's 
wrinkled,  brass-colored  countenance  close  to 
her  own,  grinning  with  a  hideously-gleeful  sat- 
iafaclion,  and  the  spectacle  was  too  much  for 
her  nerves  :  she  therefore  Lad  relapsed  on  be- 
holding it,  smitten  with  a  mortal  terror  into  a 
state  of  insensibility. 

She  had  recently  experienced  enough  of  the 
comforts  of  civilized  existence  to  make  her 
look  forward  to  a  return  to  a  nomad  life  with 
horror,  and  ifc  was  this  loathing  horror,  which 
paralyzed  her. 

On  opening  her  eyes  in  the  tent,  she  found 
herself  in  darkness  and  in  silence,  conscious 
only  of  a  peculiar  aromatic  perfume  which 
played  about  her  nostrils,  and  which  caused  a 
strange  feeling  of  irresistible  drowsy  languor 
to  steal  over  her. 

And  presently  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  won- 
drous land  of  flowers  and  sunshine,  with  love- 
ly lakes  and  streams,  reposing  placidly,  or 
wandering  and  winding  as  far  as  the  eje  could 
reach,  parterres  of  many  rich-hut d  blossoms 
spread  on  either  side  of  her,  terrace  above  ter- 
race, and  trees  of  ample  foliage  and  graceful 
form  were  clustered  in  groups,  or  formed  shad- 
owy avenues  in  various  directions.  It  was  an 
Eljsian  garden,  as  exquisite  in  loveliness  ag 
that  land  of  Eden  in  which  our  progenitors 
wandered  when  the  tree  of  knowledge  bore  un- 
tast  id  fruit. 

Gradually,  however,  this  "  undefiled  para- 
dise faded  from  her  eyes,  and  she  became  sen- 
sible that  she  was  reclining  upon  the  seat  of  a 
carriage,  swathed,  as  it  were,  in  shawls  and 
other  warm  covering. 

Opposite  to  her,  with  her  head  leaning 
against  the  cushioned  side  of  the  vehicle,  eat  a 
female,  enveloped  ia  a  cloak,  and  her  head  and 
face  nearly  wholly  ccncaaled  by  its  hood. 

The  swajing  and  jolting  of  the  vehicle  told 
her  that  she  was  being  borne  along  at  consid- 
erable Bpeed.  She  cast  her  eyes  out  of  the 
glass  window.  She  could  tell  that  it  was  the 
after  part  of  the  day  by  the  position  of  the 
sun  ;  but  the  fields  and  hills  she  saw  stretching 
far  away  were  new  and  strange  to  her.  She 
could  not  recognize  them,  though  she  atrove 
to  do  so. 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  mysteriotta 
figure  in  the  blood-red  cloak,  who  sat  opposite 
to  her,  motionless.  A  slight  shudder  went 
through  her  frame.  She  could  not  imagine 
who  the  person  thus  strangely  enveloped  could 
be. 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


It  was  not  Mamma  Atten — it  was  not  Hatty 
Marr  ;  she  could  see  that. 

She  racked  her  brain,  and  tried  to  recollect 
lorn  parson  whom  she  resembled,  bnt  in  vain. 

The  only  being  upon  whom  her  mind  showed 
any  disposition  to  settle  was  the  Countess  of 
Brackleigh,  who  had,  by  the  way,  instructed 
both  Suaan  and  Hatty  to  keep  her  name  stu- 
diously concealed  from  Floret,  and  whom  she 
therefore  only  knew  by  the  appellation  of  "  the 
lady". 

It  was  some  few  minutes  before  Floret  could 
realize  her  situation.  She  at  length  remem- 
bered, piece-meal,  that,  while  gathering  flow- 
ers, she  had  been  seized  and  carried  off  by  the 
Daddy. 

Her  heart  sank  within  her.  Could  it  be  the 
Daddy  who  sat  before  her,  hidden  by  that  ter- 
rible crimson  cloak  ? 

An  involuntary  cry  of  fear  escaped  her  lips. 

Immediately,  she  became  conscious  that  a 
pair  of  large;  dark,  lustrous  eyes,  peering  from 
beneath  the  hood  of  the  cloak,  were  fastened 
upon  her  own. 

Then  the  hood  was  thrown  back,  and  a  dark- 
skinned  face,  of  handsome  proportion,  wss  pre- 
sented to  her.  She  knew  it  not.  Ifc  was  not 
"  the  lady"  who  gazed  upon  her :  it  was  one 
Who  regarded  her  with  a  stern,  searching  look 
of  inquiry,  and  with  an  expreseion  of  con- 
temptuous pity,  which,  faint  and  weak  as  she 
felt  herself  to  be,  made  the  rebel  blood  in  her 
yeins  in  an,  instant  bubble  and  boil. 

The  strange  woman  did  not  speak,  and  Floret, 
unable  to  bear  in  silence  the  painful  mystery 
of  her  situation,  presently  said,  in  a  complain- 
ing tone : 

"  Where  am  I  going?  Whither  are  you  tak- 
ing me  ?" 

'*  To  one  who  will  be  your  future  guardian," 
slow]y  returned  her  companron,  who,  as  may 
be  surmised,  was  Hagar  Lot ;  "  one  who  will 
take  care  of  you,  and  teach  you  many  things." 

"  Not  to  the  Daddy  !  I  will  not  go  back  to 
the  Daddy  any  more  !"  cried  Floret,  earnestly, 
though  her  voice  was  faint. 

"  You  will  not,"  returned  Hagar,  with  a 
sneer  on  her  lip,  as  she  gazed  steadfastly  at 
her;  "you  speak  with  decision,  child.  How 
could  you  prevent  yourself  being  taken  to  him, 
if  it.  were  so  ordered  ?" 

"  I  would  run  away  from  him,  I  would 
Btarve  myself,  I  would  drown  myself!"  she 
exclaimed,  passionately,  then  remembering, 
suddenly,  Hattie's  gentle  admonition  to  her 
when,  on  a  previous  occasion,  she  had  suffered 
*uch  expressions  to  escape  her,  she  pressed 
her  hands  together,  and,  bursting  into  tears, 
said,  in  a  beseeching  tone,  which  evidently 
affected  Hagar : 

"  Do  not  take  me  to  the  Daddy !  Do  not 
take  me  to  him !  I  shall  break  my  heart  and 
die  if  you  do!" 

"I  am  taking  you  from  him,"  replied  Ha- 
gar, quietly.  "  I  took  yo  nout  of  his  clutches, 
even  white  he  thought  you  were  the  most 
tightly  fastened  within  them.  You  will  prob- 
ably never  eee  him  more  ;  or,  at  least,  not  un- 


til you  will  have  no  cause  to  fear  him." 

'  O  !  I  shall  be  so  happy !"  rejoined  Floret;, 
ervently. 

There  Tras  a  silence  of  a  minute  or  en,  and 
then  Floret  said,  hesitatingly,  but  bending  an 
earnest  look  of  inquiry  upon  Hagar  : 
"  Where  are  you  taking  me  to  now?" 
"I  have  already  told  you,  child,"  she  re- 
turned ;  "  to  one  who  will  have  the  future  care 
of  you." 
"  To  Mamma  Atten  ?"  inquired  Floret,  eager- 

<y« 

"  Ay !"  responded  Hagar,  sarcastically ;  «  if 
eo  she  pleases  to  style  herself," 

Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added  : 

"  You  must  be  silent,  and  not  question  me. 
You  are  weak  and  faint  from  want  of  food: 
We  shall  stop  shortly,  and  you  shall  have 
something  nice  to  eat — and,  mark  me,  you 
must  eat.  You  must  keep  a  silent  tongue, 
too;  for  if  you  speak  a  word  to  those -whom 
you  may  meet  or  see  around  you,  nothing  can 
prevent  the  Daddy  seizing  you,  and  carrying 
you  off  again.  If  he  does,  I  will  never  more 
take  you  from  him  !" 

"  I  will  not  speak  one  word,  and  I  will  eat 
as  much  as  I  can,"  she  replied,  quickly  ;  and 
idded,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  eat,  too,  for  I  am 
jo  very  hungry." 

Hagar  did  not  reply,  and  Floret  laid  back 
ind  closed  her  eyes,  for  she  felt  exhausted. 

What  a  series  of  strange  thoughts  went 
through  that  child's  brain,  as  sha  reclined  in 
the  corner  of  the  carriage.  They  were  far  from 
happy  ones ;  for  they  all  gradually  concentrat- 
ed into  one  deep,  earnest  wish  that  she  were 
by  her  mother's  side  in  heaven. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  a  roadside  inn.  There 
Hagar  saw  Floret  supplied  with  light  but 
needful  refreshment,  and  she  watched  her 
while  she  ate,  and  saw  that  she  kept  her  prom- 
ise of  satisfying  her  appetite,  and  doing  so  ia 
silence. 

Two  hDurs  only  were  paseed  in  the  taverny 
and  then  onward  they  traveled  again,  until 
they  reached  a  small  station,  connected  with  a 
railway.  It  was  pitched  in  a  lonely  spot,.  ' 
though  not  far  from  some  important  seat  of 
manufacture  ;  but  it  was  night,  and  Floret,, 
who  again  was  overcome  with  drowsiness,  took 
little  heed  of  ifc,  and  would  not  recognize  it- if 
she  saw  it  in  the  daylight.  i 

Hagar  took  places  in  the  cushioned  com- 
partment of  a  train,  which  shortly  afterward 
arrived.  It  was  unoccupied,  save  by  them- 
selves, and  onward  still  they  went  at  a  swifter 
pace  than  ever,  until  the  pale-blue  atmos- 
phere and  cold  air  of  dawn  heralded  another 
day.  i 

One  more  transfer  into  a  somewhat  antique 
postchaise,  drawn  by  seemingly  older  post- 
horses,  who,  in  their  turn,  were  driven  by  a 
yet  more  aged  post-boy. 

On  again,  over  wild  tracts  of  moorland, 
through  a  bleak  and  sterile  region,  until  some- 
what more  undulating  and  more^  wooded 
ground  was  gained/  Then  the  carriage  turn- 
ed into  a  narrow  by-road,  which  proved  to  be 


32 


EAGAR  LOT ; 


a  gentle  acclivity.  About  half-way  up,  they 
turned  through  a  dilapidated  stone- buttressed 
gateway,  up  a  semicircular  avenue  of  trees, 
and  the  horses  were  brought  to  a  stand-still 
before  an  ancient  mansion  of  considerable  ex- 
tent, but  apparently  inhabited  only  by  bats 
and  owls.  Everything  about  the  place  exhib- 
ited evidence  of  rum  and  decay,  and  no- 
where around  was  there  a  sign  of  human 
life. 

5  Yet  the  sound  of  the  carriage-wheels  brought 
to  the  hall-door  an  old,  hard-featured,  gloomy- 
looking  man,  who,  having  flung  the  door  wide, 
called  aloud  to  some  one  within. 
J  The  summons  was  instantly  responded  to 
by  two  tall,  gaunt  looking  women,  clad  in 
slate- colored  dresses  of  an  ancient  fashion, 
whose  shriveled  faces  were  pale  with  confiBe- 
ment,  study,  or  pinching  want— perhaps  all 
combined. 

•  Hagar  instantly  alighted.  Poor  little  Floret, 
worn  out  by  fatigue  to  which  her  unrenewed 
strength  was  not  equal,  was  in  a  deep  slumber, 
and  Hagar  bade  the  postilion  lift  her  out  of 
the  chaise,  and  carry  her  into  the  house. 
;  Before  the  bowed  and  feeble  post-boy  could 
comply,  a  figure  sprang  before  him,  dived  into 
the  vehicle,  and  raising  Floret  with  womanly 
tenderness  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  into  the 
hall,  and  thence  into  a  reception-room,  and 
laid  her  upon  a  faded,  creaking  old  couch, 
which  stood  trembling  by  the  wall. 

It  was  Liper  Leper. 

Hagar  watched  him  with  flashing  eyes,  fol- 
lowed him  closely,  and  kept  her  gaze  fastened 
upoa  him  until  he  had  deposited  his  delicate 
burden  carefully  upon  the  resting-place, 
which,  with  a  quick  glance,  he  had  discovered. 
But  she  did  not  ov  serve  his  eyes  linger  on 
Floret's  face,  or  d'ecover  by  his  manner,  as  he 
glided  away,  that  he  took  more  interest  in  the 
poor  child  than  she  ought  to  have  expected 
from  one  who  knew  her  to  be  in  some  way 
identified  with  its  fata. 

The  two  thin,  grim  ladies  followed  Hagftr 
Into  the  room,  and  one  of  them — it  was  diffi- 
cult to  decide  by  a  glance  at  their  faces  which 
was  the  eldest — said,  in  a  frigid  tone : 

"This  is  the  child?" 

Hagar  turned  to  her,  threw  back  her  hood, 
and  with  a  proud  and  haughty  gesture,  which 
the  occasion  did  not  seem  to  warrant,  replied, 
in  a  harsh  tone  : 
,    "It  is!" 

I  Both  ladies  betrayed  for  an  instant,  and  for 
an  instant  only,  surprise,  at  the  tone  of  voice 
in  which  Hagar  epoke,  and  also  at  her  ap- 
pearance. They  retained  the  same  cold,  rigid 
exterior,  and  the  one  who  had  previously 
spoken  continued : 

"  You  are  the  agent  of  the  lady  with  whom 
we  have  been  in  communication?" 

"  I  am,"  returned  Hagar,  with  iheeame  scorn- 
ful manner. 

^You  are  a  gipsy,"  observed  the  elderly 
maiden,  who  had  not  yet  spoken, 
i    Higar's  eyes  flashed  fiercely. 

"  I  am  that  which  a  Greater  Power  than  you 


or  any  other  human  creature  can  influence  or 
con'rtl  has  made  me!"  she  exclaimed,  sternly. 
"  What  I  am,  cannot  be  of  any  moment  to  you. 
Yonder  lies  the  object  of  your  cure  and  of 
your  interests !" 

Sbe  pointed  to  the  slumbering  Floret. 

"What  you  are,  may  become  a  subject  of 
moment  to  us,"  returned  the  unbending  female, 
with  shrewish  emphasis. 

"  Hush !  sister,"  exclaimed  her'companion ; 
"let  me  speak!  The  terms  of  my  arrange- 
ment  with  the  lady  with  whom  I  communicat- 
ed," she  proceeded  to  say,  addressing  Hagar, 
"  were  a  year's  charges  in  advance,  for  board, 
washing,  education,  and  extras,  to  be  paid 
down  at  the  very  commencement.  Unless 
those  terms  are  complied  with — " 

Hagar  threw  a  purse  upon  the  table,  and  in- 
terrupting her,  said,  with  an  expree&ion  of  con- 
tempt curling  her  upper  lip  : 

*•  Open  it,  and  examine  i's  contents.  Tell 
me  for  what  term  the  sum  will  suffice." 

Tne  female  whom  she  addressed  opened  the 
purse  with  long  fingers,  which  were  not  unlike 
the  talons  of  a  vulture.  They  were  whiter  and 
softer,  but  they  closed  over  the  purte  with  a 
very  claw-like  movement. 

There  was  money  within  it — gold  end  notes. 
Her  sister  locked  agitated  over  her  shoulder, 
as  wich  trembling  fiogers  she  counted  it  over. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  said,  looking  at 
Hagar  with  an  expression  of  exultation  she 
could.not  suppress : 

'•Here  is  rather  more  than  will  pay  for 
three  years'  board,  instruction,  washing,  ex- 
tras, and — 

"  Enough,"  interposed  Hager,  coldly; 
"  Write  and  give  me  a  receipt  to  that  effect." 

The  ladies  were  eager  to  comply  with  her  re- 
quest. They  had  a  polite  snarling  respecting 
the  writing  of  tfce  receipt,  but,  at  length,  the 
one  who  had  secured  possession  of  the  purse 
and  its  contents  wrote  the  required  document, 
and  handed  it  to  Hegar. 

Tho  latter  examined  it,  folded  it  up,  and 
placed  it  in  a  pocket-book.  Then  ehe  ad- 
dressed both  the  ladies  : 

"  As  you  will  both,"  she  said,  "  have  the 
custody  of  the  child,  it  is  necessary  to  impress 
upon  your  minds  that  you  must  study  her 
health.  While  you  are  not  at  all  restricted  aa 
to  the  descriptiou  of  tho  diet,  nor  the  rules  you 
may  think  proper  to  lay  down  and  follow,  you 
must  not  forget  that  it  is  of  the  gravest  im- 
portance that  she  should  live  over  the  three 
years,  for  which  term,  she  has  been  consigned 
to  your  custody.  Remember,  she  must  not 
die,  for  if  she  should,  the  consequences  may  be 
serious  to  you.  More  than  one  life  hangs 
upon  hers,  and  some  day  she  may  be  a  lady  ot 
high  rank — or  she  may  perish  a  mere  outcast. 
You  will  not  permit  her  to  stroll  beyond  the 
precincts  of  your  house  or  garden  grounds  ;  if 
you  do,  the  probabilities  are  strong  that  you 
will  lose  her.  In  that  case  you  will  havo  to 
refund  part  of  the  money  now  placed  in  your 
handr,  and  you  will  possibly  be  called  upon  to 
stand  at  the  bar  of  public  justice  upon  a  charge 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


irhieli  n  ow  you  cannot  imagine.  No  one  will 
Dome  here  to  see  her — no  one,  unless  it  be  my- 
self, or  the  lady  who  wrote  to  you,  may  be 
permitted  to  see  her.  She  will  not  receive  any 
fetters,  therefore  she  will  not  be  permitted  to 
write  any.  I£  any  circumstances  should  arise 
which  may  place  you  in  a  position  of  difficulty 
with  respect  to  her,  you  know  already  where 
and  with  whom  to  communicate.  I  have  to 
add,  that  you  will  address  her  only  by  the 
name  of  Edith — speak  of,  and  write  of  her  only 
under  that  name.  She  sleeps  now  heavily.  She 
is  under  the  influence  of  a  narcotic.  She  will 
soon  awake,  and  you  will  at  first  find  it  no 
easy  task  to  conciliate  and  pacify  her.  But  it 
must  be  done.  You  can  lead  her  to  believe 
that  she  will  sojourn  here  for  a  time,  and  let 
her  hope  that  she  will  soon  join  those  whom 
ehe  best  loved  on  earth.  It  cannot  do  much 
harm  to  let  her  hope— the  most  wretched  have 
at  least  that  anodyne.  A  box  of  clothes,  made 
for  her,  will  reach  you,  probably  to-day,  and 
others  will  be  sent  from  time  to  time,  or  you 
can  supply  them  as  they  may  be  needed,  and 
•harge  lor  them.  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
Farewell  I" 

"  Can  we  offer — "  suggested  one  of  the  la- 
dies. 

"A  leetle  refreshment?"  subjoined  the 
other. 

"  Some  elder  wine  ?"  submitted  the  first. 

''Thin  but  nourishing — very  nourishing!" 
recommended  the  second. 

Hagar  waved  her  hand. 

"  I  require  no  refreshment.  I  bid  you  look 
to  your  charge,  and  to  remember  well  what  you 
have  undertaken  to  perform." 

So  saving,  Hagar  quitted  the  room  with  » 
stately  step,  greatly  to  the  admiration  of  the 
two  ladies,  who  did  not  remember  to  have  seen 
*  gipsy  of  her  stamp  before. 

Tuey  saw  her  to  the  carriage,  saw  her  enter 
it,  and  Jrive  off,  and  then  they  returned, 
•huckling  and  chattering  to  each  other,  into 
their  lone,  old,  time-shattered  cage. 

They  found,  upon  their  return  to  the  recep- 
tion-room, that  Floret  had  half  risen  from  the 
sofa,  upon  which  she  had  been  reclining,  and 
w^s  gazing  around  her  with  an  expression  of 
unqualified  wonder  in  her  eyes,  which  was  not 
lessened  when  the  two  gaunt  damsels  entered 
the  apartment,  and  smiled  upon  her  with  a 
benignancy  that  was  anything  but  reassuring. 

Floret  had  a  hundred  questions  to  ask,  all 
trembling  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  but,  during 
her  young  life,  she  had  been  taught  some  hard 
lessons,  and  she  checked  herself.  She  quietly 
resolved  to  suffer  the  two  strange-looking 
women  to  speak  first,  and  surmised  that  she 
should  be  able  to  form  a  more  correct  not  on 
of  her  new  position  by  permitting  them  to 
talk  to  her  than  if  she  were  to  put  fifty  intei- 
rog-itories  to  them. 

That  she  was  correct  in  her  surmise,  she 
very  quickly  found,  for  she  was  informed,  by 
the  two  sisters  that  she  was  now  at  a  boarding- 
school,  where  she  would  be  instructed  in  the 
arious  branches  of  education,  in  a  oomple  te 


and  exhaustive  manner;  so  that,  when  she 
quitted  their  establishment,  she  would  be 
fitted  for  the  highest  society  in  the  world,  even 
to  be  the  lady  principal  of  one  of  the  first  la 
dies'  colleges  in  the  universe. 

There  was  much  that  was  uttered  bv  these 
ancient  ladies — one  interpolating  every  sen- 
tence that  the  other  uttered — wnich  wa,s  pure 
jargon  to  Floret's  ears ;  but  she  extracted  out 
of  it  all,  that  she  was  once  more  a  prisoner — 
was  to  be  caged  in  the  drear  old  mansion  Bhe 
wad  now  in,  she  knew  not  how  long — was  to  be 
separated  from  Mamma  Atten,  and  every  one 
else  who  had  spoken  to  or  treated  her  kindly, 
for  some  lengthened  period— and,  in  fact,  was 
to  be  shut  out  from  all  communion  with  the 
world,  until  those  who  had  taken  upon  them- 
seJYes  to  place  her  where  she  now  was,  thought 
fit  to  liberate  her. 

This,  perhaps,  would  have  seemed  to  her  a 
very  terrible  fate,  but  for  two  considerations. 
The  first  was,  that  she  should  there  be  safe 
from  the  clutches  of  the  Daddy,  until  ho  had, 
perhaps,  quite  forgotten  her,  or  was  dead  ;  and 
the  second  was  no  less  timpor  tan  t  ia  her  eyes. 
She  shouli  here,  in  seclusion  and  quiet,  be 
able  to  make  herself  mistress  of  those  acquire- 
ments and  accomplishments  which  would  fit 
her  for  the  highest  society— even  that  of  a 
young  lord. 

The  two  sisters  were  somewhat  amazed,  and 
agreeably  amazed,  to  find  that,  after  a  little 
reflection,  the  child  took  their  announcement 
with  remarkable  resignation.  One  very  heavy 
sigh — almost  a  sob — burst  from  her  lips,  and 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  two  tiny  white 
hands,  *s  one  of  the  sisters  concluded  a  long 
homily  ,>.*i  the  virtues  of  patience  and  obedi- 
ence ;  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  She 
removed  her  hands,  and,  turning  h«r  liquid 
eyes  upon  the  grim  pair,  said,  in  a  low, 
thoughtful  tone : 

"  I  will  try  to  be  good  and  attentive,  and  to 
do  what  you  bid  me !" 

"Angelic  child!"  ejaculated  one  of  the  sis 
tern. 

"  Would  it  like  some  new-laid  eggs,  and 
bread  and  butter,  and  some  nice  lukewarm 
milk  and  waiar  ?"  exclaimed  the  other. 

Floret  assented,  and  the  mild  repast  was 
quickly  spread  before  her.  In  such  fashion 
was  the  afterpart  of  the  day  got  over. 

She  was  conducted  to  bed  early  in  the  even- 
ing, and  was  placed  in  a  large,  old  fashioned 
chamber,  the  walls  of  which  were  covered  with 
dark  wainscot  oak,  blackened  by  time.  Be- 
tween the  panels  were  raised  carvings  of  quaint 
faces,  and  masques,  and  rich  devices  of  fruit 
and  flowers,  and  the  ceiling  was  divided  into 
heavy  compartments. 

Sae  was  not  permitted  to  have  a  light,  but 
this  seemed  to  be  a  question  of  email  import- 
ance, for  she  was  put  to  bed  at  daylight,  and 
wus  not  expected  to  rise  until  after  the  break- 
ing of  dawn. 

Poor  ihtle  Floret !  She  felt  very,  very  sad 
and  desolate,  when  ehe  found  herself  upon  a 
hard  pallet,  with  very  scanty  covering,  and  she 


HAGAR  LOTi 


aould  not  keep  bock  the  scalding  tears  which  a 
very  keen  sense  of  the  misery  of  her  situation 
forced  from  her  eyelids. 

Yet  she  strove  bravely  to  fight  against  her 
wretchedness,  for  she  was  animated  by  the  one 
hope,  that  she  should,  in  this  lone,  dreary 
place,  become  mistress  of  all  those  stores  of 
knowledge  to  which  Hatty  had  only  introduced 
her,  and  which,  when  all  her  own,  would  qual- 
ify her  to  converse,  on  equal  terms,  with  one 
who  now  was  as  much  her  superior  in  learning 
M  he  was — or,  as  she  thought  he  was— in 
rank. 

But,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  be  resigned 
to  this  Eew  change  in  her  condition,  she 
sobbed  long  and  bitterly— cried  herself  to 
sleep,  in  fact. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  she  did  so. 

Night  came  on,  and,  gradually,  every  object 
in  the  room  was  rendered  indistinct.  Then  a 
door  in  the  corner  of  the  chamber  noiselessly 
opened,  and  a  thin,  shivering  figure,  scantily 
clad  only  in  a  night-garment,  crept  into  the 
room,  and  wandered  about,  as  if  in  search  of 
something. 

Upon  the  table  was  some  bread  and  butter, 
and  a  mug,  containing  som*  milk  and  water, 
placed  there  for  Floret's  supper,  if  she  felt  in- 
clined to  take  it,  although  the  two  grim  skele- 
ton women,  with  one  breath,  assured  her  that 
suppers  were  most  injurious  meals. 

The  phantom  figure  ate  the  bread  and  but- 
ter greedily ;  and,  when  it  had  eaten  every 
crumb,  and  had  drunk  up  the  whole  of  the 
milk  and  water,  it  took  up  a  strip  of  carpet, 
which  had  been  placed  at  the  side  of  Floret's 
bed,  and  disappeared  with  it. 

As  tho  first  pale,  gray  streak  of  the  dawn 
shone  through  the  panes  «f  the  uncurtained 
window,  the  mysterious  figure  reappeared 
with  the  carpet,  laid  it  down  on  the  spot  from 
whence  it  had  taken  it,  and,  glancing  at  the 
table,  as  if  expecting  to  see  another  supply  of 
bread  and  butter  and  milk  and  water,  dis- 
appeared, on  perceiving  that  nothing  was 
there  but  the  empty  mug. 

The  sun  was  shining  upon  Floret's  bed  when 
she  awoke,  and  she  arose,  dressed,  and  de- 
scended as  one  of  the  gaunt  ladies  was  about 
to  seek  her,  to  expatiate  upon  the  evil  conse- 
quences of  the  practice  of  lying  late  in  bed 
— there,  one  of  them  was  the  loss  of  a  break- 
fast. 

Still,  both  ladies  were  gracious  to  her,  and 
they  gave  her  permission  to  walk  in  the 
garden  for  an  hour,  before  they  laid  before 
her  the  regulations  to  which  she  would  have 
to  conform. 

Floret  availed  herself  of  their  offer,  and 
proceeded  to  the  garden,  which  was  very  ex- 
tensive, and  led,  apparently,  through  a  large 
orchard  to  a  dense  plantation  of  dark  firs. 

The  garden,  many  years  back,  had  been  a 
rely  beautiful  one,  tastefully  laid  out  with 
parterres  and  winding  walks  ;  now,  it  was  one 
tangled  mass  of  flowers  and  weeds,  growing 
together,  inter  wined  in  rank  luxuriance. 
:  Floret  had  but  little  cLtanoe  of  examining 


the  beauties  of  the  place,  or  of  lamenting  its 
decay,  for,  as  she  wound  round  one  of  the 
serpentine  walks,  near  to  a  huge  bush,  almost 
a  tree,  of  the  dark  greeu  laurel,  flourishing 
vigorously  in  the  damp  which  there  prevailed, 
she  saw  a  shadow  fall  on  her  path. 

She  looked  up— Liper  Leper  stood  by  her 
side  I 

He  placed  his  finger  on  his  lip  to  caution 
her  to  silence. 

"Listen  to  me,  White  Rose,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly, "  and  do  not  interrupt  me — for  I  must 
hasten  far,  far  from  this,  when  I  leave  you.  I 
dp  not  know  even  now,  that  my  lagging  be- 
hind to  see  and  speak  to  you  may  not  work 
mischief  for  both.  But  what  I  have  to  say  is 
at  least  worth  the  risk  to  you.  Silver-blossom, 
you  have  been  again  torn  from  one  who  has 
proved  to  you,  and  would,  as  far  as  might 
bo  m  her  power,  still  prove  to  you,  as  tender 
as  a  mother ;  but  she  is  of  humble  life,  and 
you  are  a  lady  born,  though  not  bred  one. 
Nay,  do  not  start  and  tremble  so — and  brush 
away  from  your  eyes  those  large  crystal  dew- 
drops,  for  to  see  them  there  only  makes  me 
feel  faint  and  sick  at  heart.  There,  lily  of 
the  vale,  that  smile  is  bravely  done ;  it  will 
nerve  me  to  may  task — let  its  memory  keep 
you  to  yours.  I  tell  you  that  you  are  a  lady 
born.  Some  day— some  day,  star  of  the 
flower  bank,  it  shall  be  proved — I  will  prove 
it—" 

"  You — you  Liper  ?"  she  cried,  eagerly. 
"Hxish!  not  a  word,  May-bloom.  Have 
faith,  in  me,  courage — and  strength,  and  confi- 
dence in  yourself.  You  have  been  placed  here 
to  remain  in  secret  for  two,  perhaps  three 
years,  but  in  safety,  white  pearl,  or  Hagar 
would  not  have  brought  you  hither.  Here 
you  can  learn  all  that  high-born  ladies  know, 
if  you  work  hard ;  here  it  will  be  better,  more 
prudent,  and  indeed  safer,  for  you  to  stay  than 
anywhere  I  know  of ;  and  here  I  counsel  you 
to  remain  as  long  as  you  can,  taking  heart  out 
of  the  hope  I  have  given  you,  of  some  day 
being  one  of  the  highest  and  proudest  in  the 
land.  But  there  may  spring  up  reasons  which 
I  cannot  foresee,  motives  and  causes  which  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  imagine,  which 
may  make  it  necessary  for  you  to  escape  from 
this  place.  You  cannot  do  so  without  money. 
Here  is  a  sum  which  you  must  hide  away,  and 
never  touch  until  you  actually  need  it  for  the 
purpose  I  have  named.  Do  not  hesitate  to  use 
it  freely,  it  u  honestly  mine  to  give ;  and  you 
will  not,  I  know,  refuse  to  receive  it  from  me, 
because  you  know,  golden  primrose,  you  can 
pay  me  back  again  when  you  are  a  great  lady. 
Take,  too,  this  dagger,"  he  added,  handing  to 
her  a  steel  poniard,  sheathed,  and  having  a 
handle  of  curious  workmanship.  "  Be  careful 
how  you  use  it,  for  the  point  is  envenomed. 
Knowing  this,  you  will  know  when,  and  when 
alone,  to  use  it.  Farewell,  White  Rose,  keep 
up  your  heart  and  your  spirit.  Stay  here, 
learning  all  you  can,  as  long  as  you  can  endure 
it.  Then  fly.  In  your  flight  seek  the  people  of 
our  tribe.  Show  to  them  your  left 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


85 


and  point  out  the  three-sides  mark  upon  it. 
Say  to  them,  '  I  am  EL  YDAIOUH,'  and  they 
wifi  succor  you,  and  help  you  onward,  at  the 
risk  of  their  lives.  Farewell,  snowflake! 
sometimes  think  of  me— sometimes  pray  for 
me.  May  the  Great  Spirit  bless  you  I  White 
Rose,  and  make  you  happy,  happy — very 


J[e  caught  up  her  hand  and  placed  a  email 
packet  in  it.  He  kissed  her  soft  fingers  gently 
as  he  did  so,  and  then  glided  swiftly  away 
behind  the  laurel  trees. 

Floret  sank  upon  the  ground,  and  bowed 
her  face  upon  her  knees. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Those  who  sojourn  hers  seldom  wish  to  stay 

For  any  length  of  time  ;  an  hour  or  two 

la  quite  sufficient ;  few  would  spend  a  day. 

Fewer  a  week,  and  none  a  twelvemonth  through. 
The  bore  is  this— they  cannot  get  away, 
Although  they  labor  for't  with  much  ado  ; 

****** 
Sometimes  they  take  to  flight,  with  hopes  to  'scape 
Their  term  of  torture,  scampering  many  a  mile."| 
— KENBALT  (a  new  Pantomime). 
Floret  quickly  learned  the  character  of  life 
she  would  have  to  lead  at  her  new  home,  until 
circumstances,  of  which  she  at  present  could 
form  DO  idea,  emancipated  her  from  a  condi- 
tion, which  if  in  one  sense  beneficial  to  her, 
was  in  every  other  almost  insupportable  thrall- 
dom. 

On  her  return  from  the  garden,  after  having 
parted  with  Liper  Leper  very  dejected,  feeling 
very  much  as  if  the  last  ray  of  sunshine  had 
been  withdrawn  from  her  daily  life,  she  was  re- 
ceived by  the  sisters  in  solemn  state,  in  a  room 
which  was  styled  the  examination-room,  and 
she  was  made  to  undergo  an  examiation,  which 
was  conducted  with  so  much  skiD,  that  in  com- 
paratively a  few  minutes  the  sisters  had  not 
only  made  themselves  acquainted  with  the  very 
meagre  state  of  Floret's  acquirements,  but  with 
her  disposition,  and  her  capacity  to  learn. 

They  found  the  latter  both  satisfactory,  and 
proceeded  to  mark  out  for  her  a  routine,  which 
to  Floret  appeared  at  first  of  the  most  formi- 
dable character,  and  she  was  utterly  bewildered 
when  she  was  informed  that  she  would  have  to 
pursue  orthographical,  grammatical,  etymolo- 

S'.cal,  geographical,  topographical,  arithmetic- 
,  mathematical,  botanical,  geological,  theo- 
logical, astronomical,  historical,  biographical, 
caligraphical,  musical,  and  artistical  studies, 
together  with  the  acquirement  of  the  French, 
German,  Latin,  Greek,  Italian,  and  Spanish 
languages. 

But  there  was  something  grand  in  the  sound 
of  the  strange  words  she  had  heard  ;  and  the 
spirit  of  emulation,  never  dormant  in  her  breast, 
made  her  heart  leap  at  the  very  notion  of  be- 
coming mistress  of  such  a  cycle  of  knowledge. 
She,  therefore,  with  unaffected  willingness,  ex- 
pressed her  readiness  to  commence  as  soon  as 
she  was  required  to  do  so.  She  was,  however, 
condescendingly  permitted  to  have  a  few  days' 
quiet  before  she  commenced  her  labors,  in  or- 
der that  she  might  become  used  to  the  place, 
the  people  within  it,  and  their  ways. 


During  the  brief  period  that-ensued  between 
that  examination  and  the  commencement  oi 
her  work,  she  had  ample  opportunity  of  learn- 
ing all  about  the  mansion,  its  inhabitants,  and 
their  rules,  which  she  desired  to  know.  We 
may  here  explain  that  the  ladies,  to  whom  We: 
have  introduced  our  readers  as  the  future  cus-l 
todians,  for  at  least  three  years,  of  Floret,  were 
the  daughters  of  the  gloomy-looking  old  man 
who  first  opened  the  hall-door,  upon  the  arriv- 
al of  the  post-chaise  at  the  portal, 

That  old  man  was  the  son  of  very  poor  par- 
ents, and  having  shown  a  peculiar  aptitude  for 
learning,  was  sent  by  a  gentleman,  who  had  no 
ticed  his  qualifications,  to  a  grammar-school. 
Here  he  carried  oif  a  scholarship  which  ena- 
bled him  to  proceed  to  Oxford,  where  he  ob- 
tained high  honors  and  a  fellowship.  His  ap- 
petite for  learning  was  amazing  ,  his  memory 
ffas  prodigious  ;  and  the  very  highest  profess- 
orships were  almost  within  his  grasp,  when  he, 
in  a  weak  moment,  was  caught  by  the  beauty, 
»f  a  girl,  in  extremely  humble  circumstances,! 
who  had  nothing  but  a  clear,  white  skin,  bright 
eyes,  and  regular  features  to  recommend  her. ; 
He  married  her,  ana  had  to  resign  his  fellow  ( 
ship.  He  was  afterward  presented  with  a  liv- 
ing, which  had  but  a  small  income,  not  far 
from  the  spot  in  which  he  now  resided,  and  he 
retired  to  it.  While  there,  he  was  blessed* 
with  two  children — twins.  He,  however,  lived 
most  unhappily  with  his  wife.  She  was  ex-  > 
tremely  ignorant,  violent- tempered,  and  offen-  • 
sively  vulgar.  He  grew  soured  and  morose, 
secluded  himself  entirely  with  his  books,  and 
endured  the  privations  which  his  ruiserable  in- 
come enforced,  rather  than,  with  euch  a  wife, 
endeavor  to  extend  his  influence,  or  increase 
the  number  of  his  parishioners. 

A  town  springing  up  within  a  few  miles  of 
his  parish,  drew  away  the  chief  part,  of  the  in- 
habitants of  his  village  ;  the  church  went  to 
decay  for  want  of  funds  to  repair  it;  and  he 
became  comparatively  a  beggar.  His  two 
daughters,  while  infants,  both  exhibited  tem- 
pers of  the  most  violent  description,  inheriting 
much  of  his  passionate  nature,  with  a  large 
proportion  of  their  mother's  vixenish  fury. 
They  came  into  the  world  howling,  and 
they  kept  up  a  perpetual  screeching;  they 
screamed  all  day,  and  they  yelled  all  night, 
and  they  defied  all  attempts  to  pacify  them. 
He  prayed  for  resignation,  and  for  strength  to 
bear  the  infliction;  their  mother  alternately 
kissed,  slapped,  coaxed,  smacked,  shook,  sung 
to,  spanked,  or  shouted  at  them,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose. In  spirit  of  spite,  he  christened  one  of 
them  Ate,  and  the  other  Sycorax.  Time  went 
on  —  they  quarreled,  fought,  struggled  on! 
through  three  or  four  years,  leaving  it  an  open 
question  which  of  them— father,  mother,  or 
children — had  obtained  the  mastery,  or  had 
been  most  wretched  during  that  period.  One 
day,  the  wife  gave  way  to  an  ungovernable 
tempest  of  passion,  and  broke  a  blood-vessel, 
which  summarily  killed  her.  | 

The  rearing  of  the  little  Ate  and  Sycorax 
then  devolved  wholly  upon  the  father.  He 


£6 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


Hied  their  minds  with  learning,  and  starved 
Iheir  frames.  He  took  a  special  delight  in 
i  Camming  them  with  knowledge  of  almost 
I  »very  branch  of  which  he  was  master,  and  in 
instructing  them  to  live  upon  nothing. 
;  One  of  the  daughters,  exhibiting  a  taste  for 
music,  which,  conquering  her  misery,  forced 
her  to  sing  while  even  in  the  throes  of  griping 
Lunger,  was  supplied  with  a  music  and  sing- 
ing-master, through  the  kindness  of  one  of  the 
neighboring  gentry,  who  respected  her  father's 
intellectual  acquirements,  although  he  did  not 
like  the  man.  From  him,  she  learned  not  only 
[the  art  of  playiog  upon  the  pianoforte  and 
ringing,  but  the  mysteries  of  thorough  bass. 
Her  father  would  not  permit  either  of  his 
j  daughters  to  have  a  smattering  only  of  any 
i branch  of  knowledge.  He  made  them  master 
it  thoroughly. 

They  reaped  the  advantage  of  it  afterward. 

When  old  enough  to  be  married,  there  were 
no  suitors  for  their  hands,  even  in  imagination ; 
and,  to  obtain  the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  they 
took  lady-pupils ;  but,  as  they  nearly  killed 
them  by  over-study,  and  by  at  the  same  time 
underfeeding  them,  they  never  had  many  at  a 
time ;  and  even  the  last  few  were  taken  away 
from  them  by  their  electrified  parents,  to  pre- 
yent  their  compulsory  departure  by  dying  off. 
'  It  wag  at  thin  period  that  an  execution  for 
debt  swept  off  everything  that  their  father 
possessed,  and  then  once  more  the  kind  neigh- 
bor stepped  in.  He  gave  them  the  dilapidat- 
ed mansion  to  live  in,  which  they  at  present 
occupied  ;  he  rescued  for  them  all  their  educa- 
tional works,  their  piano,  and  the  globes ;  and 
for  their  father,  his  library  of  classics,  and 
ancient  theological  MSS.,  and  printed  works. 

He  also  caused  to  be  inserted  ia  the  Times 
newspaper  an  advertisement,  worded  in  a  pe- 
culiar style.  He  surmised  from  what  he  knew 
of  the  sisters  Blixenfinik's  establishment,  that 
it  would  be  better  calculated  to  get  the  pu- 
p?ls  whom  they  alone  could  keep,  than  if  he 
had  employed  the  usual  and  ordinary  terms. 
•  It  stated  that  the  Misses  A.  and  8.  Blixen- 
finik,  of  Ugglebarnby,  in  tha  North  Biding  of 
Yorkshire,  were  prepared  to  receive,  board, 
and  instruct  young  lady  pupils,  whose  parents 
required  for  them  the  advantages  of  a  sequest- 
ered and  secluded  home — secure  and  sacred 
from  all  external  influences.  The  terms  were 
declared  to  be  moderate,  and  the  strictest  pri- 
vacy in  all  transactions  preserved. 
|  The  author  of  the  advertisement  knew  the 
class  of  children  the  parents  of  whom  such  an 
advertisement  would  attract:  but  to  do  the 
Misses  Blixenfinik  justice,  they  were  certainly 
too  simple  and  unacquainted  with  the  world's 
ways  to  have  the  least  suspicion  of  the  truth. 

The  Marchioness  of  "Westchester  happened 
to  see  by  chance  this  advertisement ;  its  pe- 
culiarity struck  her,  because  it  was  applicable 
in  one  sense  to  herself.  Hagar  Lot,  that  same 
nigiit,  sought  her,  to  inform  her  that  the  old 
man  who  bad  previously  the  care  of  Floret  had 
again  ^discovered  her,  and  was  upon  her  track. 
The  Marchioness  pointed  out  the  advertise- 


ment to  Hagar,  informed  her  that  she  wai 
about  to  proceed  abroad  for  two  or  three 
years,  and  suggested  that,  if  she  could  regain 
the  child,  it  would  be  a  better  plan  than  any 
they  had  yet  formed  respecting  her,  to  place 
her  at  the  establishment  of  the  Misses  Blixen- 
finik. 

Hagar,  with  a  curious  eagerness,  assented  ;  the 
Marchioness  immediately  conducted  a  corre- 
pondence  with  the  Mieses  Blixenfinik  in  a  feign* 
ed  name,  placed  funds  at  the  command  of  Ha- 
gar ;  and  the  latter,  as  we  have  seen,  having  suc- 
cessfully snatched  Floret  from  the  Daddy's 
clutches,  placed  her  with  the  ladiee,  who,  in 
one  respect,  gave  a  tone  to  her  future  life. 

Floret  soon  found  it  insupportably  dreary 
to  wander  in  the  garden  alone,  although  ehe 
had  found  and  clambered  up  a  higi  earthen 
mound,  and  from  thence  beheld  a  long  ex- 
panse of  flat  country  on  one  hand,  and  the 
dark,  turbulent,  restless  North  Sea  on  the 
other.  At  first,  never  having  seen  the  sea  be- 
fore, it  much  interested  her ;  but  it  soon  gave 
rise  to  despondent  thoughts,  for  it  created  a 
wieh  to  go  somewhere  beyond  its  limits,  and 
then  she  reflected  that  if  she  did,  there  would 
be  no  friend  or  relative  there  to  receive  and 
welcome  her. 

So  she  avoided  the  garden,  and  turned  her 
thoughts  to  her  mental  work,  and  yearned  for 
it.  It  came,  and  soon  enough ;  for  it  quickly 
absorbed  all  childish  thoughts  and  fancies,  all 
desire  for  play  or  sport,  all  Bprightlinesa  or 
disposition  to  frolic — in  fact,  from  dawn  to 
bed-time,  all  her  time  was  employed,  save 
when  occupied  by  spare  and  scanty  meals, 
which,  as  yet,  were  liberal  to  what  they  would 
be. 

There  was  no  other  pupil  who  entered  the 
rooms  in  which  she  studied  ;  and  though  one 
or  the  other  of  the  Misses  Blixenfinik  absented 
themselves  during  the  day,  and  she  sometimes 
heard  the  piano  being  played  upon  by  a  less 
practiced  hand  than  than  that  of  the  sister 
Ate,  who  was  the  music-mistress,  yet  she  eaw 
no  one. 

She  soon  began  to  be  accustomed  to  her 
routine  of  study,  and  to  make  quick  progress 
in  all  the  rudiments  of  the  various  branches  of 
learning ;  for  she  applied  herself  to  them  with 
enthusiastic  earnestness,  and  both  her  mis- 
tresses taught  well 

They  understood  the  art  of  grounding  a 
pupil  thoroughly — their  father  had  made  them 
understand  it— and  aa  they  led  Floret  on  by 
lucidly  progressive  lessons,  explaining  clearly 
to  her  everything  she  found  difficult  to  com- 
prehend, her  advancement  was  necessarily  very 
rapid. 

At  first,  the  novelty  of  her  employment,  the 
wondrous  field  it  opened  to  her  intelligent  and 
naturally  inquiring  mind,  and  the  incessant 
application  it  demanded,  robbed  her  daily  life 
of  much  of  its  monotony.  She  commenced 
with  a  task  the  moment  her  eyes  opened,  and 
she  dropped  asleep  over  one  "which  she  was 
conning  in  bed,;  when  she  retired  to  rest  wnile 
it  was  yet  daylight.  Thus  for  a  time  the  dull, 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


vapid,  dreariness  of  the  place  passed  unnoticed 
by  her,  because  her  mind  was  absorbed  by  the 
work  it  was  called  upon  to  perform. 

For  the  first  week  or  two,  the  sisters  Ate*  and 
Sycorax  were  bland  and  gracious  to  her.  She 
was  allowed  ten  minutes  in  the  garden  before 
dinner,  and  five  minutes  after  tea.  Sometimes 
she  was  permitted  to  take  her  little  frugal  sup- 
per to  bed  with  her,  and  that  was  regarded  as 
a  special  favor,  to  one  whose  strength,  it  was 
evident,  was  not  quite  equal  to  the  tasks  im- 
posed upon  it 

This  supper  consisted  of  a  thin  slice  of 
bread — a  mere  wafer,  in  the  eyes  of  a  boy  at 
the  age  when  he  considers  a  half-quartern  loaf 
by  no  means  beyond  his  capacity  to  swallow 
at  a  sitting—a  few  lettuce  leaves,  and  a  mug 
half  filled  with  water,  containing  a  dash  of 
milk  in  it.  Occasionally,  an  apple  would  be 
added  to  this  profusion  by  old  Blixenfinik, 
who  watched  her  progress  with  curiosity,  and 
was  much  moved  by  her  earnestness,  her  per- 
severance, and  the  singular  quickness,  not 
only  with  which  she  comprehended,  but  with 
which  she  committed  to  memory  whatever  was 
said  before  her. 

This  reward  was  always  given  to  her  in  se- 
cret; the  old  man  explained  to  her  why  he 
gave  it  her,  but  he  sternly  forbade  her  men- 
tioning his  generosity  to  Ate*  or  Sycorax,  be- 
cause, he  said,  they  would  take  it  from  her, 
and  after  a  quarrel  over  a  division  of  the  spoil, 
eat  it  themselves. 

Sometimes  Floret,  absorbed  in  her  lessons, 
or  wearied  with  her  day's  work,  would  drop 
asleep  before  she  had  touched  her  supper. 
Whenever  she  did  so,  it  was  gone  when  morn- 
ing came. 

The  mug  alone  remained ;  and  that  was  al- 
ways empty. 

At  first  she  fancied,  on  discovering  this  cir- 
cumstance, that  she  had  eaten  her  supper,  and 
afterward  had  forgotten  that  she  had  done 
so ;  but  the  recurrence  of  the  circumstance  two 
or  three  times  convinced  her  that  some  one 
entered  the  room  after  she  was  asleep,  and  par- 
took of  it 

Before  this  thought  flashed  across  her  mind, 
her  great  old-fashioned  room  had  caused!  her 
i  no  superstitious  misgivings  ;  but  now  she  felt 
her  flesh  crawl,  as  she  wondered  who  it  could 
be  who  stole  into  it  in  the  night- time,  and  ate 
her  supper  while  she  slept. 

It  was  not  the  sisters  Ate  and  Syeorax  ;  for 
they  would  surely  have  alluded  to  the  subject 
when  she  again  carried  her  evening  meal  to 
her  bedroom  with  her.  But  they  said  nothing 
whatever  to  her  respecting  it.  It  could  not 
be  old  Blixenfinik,  for  he  made  her  a  present 
of  apples,  and  would  hardly  take  them  away 
again. 

And  not  being  him,  who  could  it  be  ?  There 
was  only  an  old  woman,  who  came  to  assist  in 
the  household  duties  during  the  day,  but  she 
went  home  when  tea  was  over.  She  resolved 
to  try  and  find  the  mystery  out,  although  she 
did  BO  with  nervous  apprehension.  She  locked 
her  bedroom  door  one  night  when  she  went  to 


bed,  and  she  tried  to  keep  awake  to  watch ; 
but,  tired  out,  she  dropped  insensibly  to  sleep, 
and  si— "-  — Ail 


The  bread  and  butter,  the  apple,  and  the 
mDk  and  water  were  gone.  The  mug  alone' 
remained,  and  the  door  was  still  locked. 

Floret  was  much  disturbed  ;  she  said  noth-  t 
ing  to  the  sisters,  but  she  began  to  conceiye  a  *• 
horrible  fear  of  going  to  bed.    She  felt  thst 
she  dared  not  speak  of  what  had  taken  place, 
and  yet  she  reflected,  with  almost  indescribable* 
terror,  that  some  unimaginable  form  sat  at  that' 
table,  opposite  the  foot  of  her  bed,  in  the  dark) 
hour  of  the  night,  perhaps  midnight,  snapping 
up  her  frugal  meal,  and  glaring  at  her  wh  ?e 
she  lay  sleeping. 

It  was  strange  that,  strive  as  she  would,  s  ie 
could  not  keep  her  eyes  open  until  nightj 
clothed  her  room  in  darkness.  She,  therefore, 
could  not  discover  who  her  mysterious  visitor. 
was. 

One  night,  however,  she  woke  up  out  of  a 
deep  sleep,  but  without  making  any  movement,! 
save  that  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked) 
straight  before  her. 

The  moon  was  nearly  at  the  full,  and  its' 
beams  shone  brightly  into  the  room,  Theyi 
fell  upon  her  face  ;  but  they  fell,  too,  upon  tW 
face  and  form  of  a  young  girl  about  her  own' 
age,  who  was  clad  only  in  a  thin,  white  night-  j 
gown. 

She  sat  on  a  chair  by  the  table,  with  her 
hands  clasped  upon  her  knees,  and  she  was 
gazing  wistfully  on  Floret's  face.  i  i 

At  first,  Floret  felt  that  she  must  shriek 
wildly  and  frantically  ;  then  she  found  that 
her  heart  beat  so  violently,  and  she  was  so 
sick  with  fear  that  her  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  her  mouth.  j  j 

The  seeming  phantom  sighed  several  times 
deeply,  and  then,  stretching  her  clasped  hands 
toward  Floret,  she  murmured  :  ,  i< 

"  O!  if  I  were  only  half  as  kindly  treated 
and  as  happy  as  you  are  !" 

And  then  she  laid  her  face  between  her  fold- 
ed arms  upon  the  table,  and  wept. 

It  was  no  phantom,  no'  ghost—  Floret  was  aura 
of  that  now  ;  but  she  was  still  frightened,  and 
trembled  very  much.  ;|i 

She  rose  slowly  up  in  the  bed,  and  said,  in  a 
low,  soft  voice  :  "  Who  are  you  ?"  | 

The  figure,  with  a  gesture  of  apprehension,' 
started,  and,  lifting  her  head  from  the  table, 
turned  her  face  to  Floret.  ^ 

Then  she  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
kneeling  down,  with  clasped  hanos,  nhe  said  : 

"  Do  not  tell  of  me—  do  not  betray  me  to 
Miss  Ate,  or  she  will  punish  me  cruelly  —  Ol; 
so  verv  cruelly  !" 

"  Will  she?"  asked  Floret,  still  shaking  like' 
an  aspen  ;  "  what  for  ?" 

"Because  I  have  stolen  inio  your 


and  have  eaten  your  supper,"  replied  the] 
shivering  girL  "  But  I  could  not  feelp  it,  for 
htey  starve  me,  and  so  they  will  you  by  and 

by." 


Floret  looked  in  hei 
shuddered. 


an,  thin  face,  and 


88 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


|    "  Why  do  they  not  give  you  enough  to  eat  ?" 
ehe  inquired. 

I    "  Hugh  1"  whispered  the  giri,  with  a  fright 
ened  gesture.    "  The  Bisters  sleep  not  far  from 
| this  room,  and  I  often  hear  Miss  Ate  say  that 
'•he  can  hear  the  mice  race  up  and  down 
<rooms,  and  round  the  wainscoat — " 

'  And  do  they  ?"  inquired  Floret,  with  a 
choking  sensation. 

"O  yes,  very  often,"  returned  the    girl; 

they  are  starving,  top,  I  think,  and,  like  me, 
they  roam  about  at  night  to  steal  something 
to  eat." 

"  But  who  are  you,  and  why  do  they  keep 
you  without  food?"  inquired  Floret,  earnestly, 
in  a  whisper. 

)  "  I  am  a  pupil  here.  I  am  an  orphan,  I  be 
lieve — I  do  not  know  who  I  am,"  returned  the 
girl,  in  a  tone  of  anguish.  "  But  somebody 
sent  me  here,  and  I  am  not  paid  for,  Miss  Ate 
eays,  and  they  do  not  know  where  to  send  me 
to ;  and  so  they  are  slowly  starving  me  to 
death,  to  get,  rid  of  me." 

"  0 1  how  horrible  !"  murmured  Floret,  in  a 
tone  of  frigtt  "  I — I,  too,  am  an  orphan.  I 
do  not  know  who  sent  me  here.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  am  paid  for— perhaps  they  will 
starve  me  ?" 

"  No,"  returned  the  girl,  quickly.  "  You 
are  well  paid  for,  and  for  three  years,  and  all 
in  one  large  sum  of  money.  Miss  At£  told  me 
that,  and  spat  at  me.  They  will  feed  you  for 
some  little  time  better  than  they  will  me; 
but  they  will  stint  you  by  and  by,  when  some 
;  one  else"  comes,  and  they  will  take  your  bed 
from  you,  end  make  you  lie,  like  me,  on  some 
old  carpets,  with  scarcely  anything  to  cover 
you." 

i  "  But  I  won't  let  them  have  my  bed,  and  I 
will  have  enough  to  eat!"  exclaimed  Floret, 
angrily  ;  "  and  so  shall  you.  I  will  bring  tip 
such  a  lot  of  bread  and  butter,  and  apples,  to- 
morrow night—" 

;  "Hush — hush!  for  Heaven's  sake!"  whis- 
pered the  girl,  excitedly.  "If  we  are  over- 
:  heard,  I  shall  be  put  down  in  the  dark  hole, 
'.where  the  rats  are.  O!  they  have  such  a 
dreadful  place  down  underground  here." 

A  cold  shiver  went  over  Floret,  and  some 
dismal  foreboding  crept  into  her  mind. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  continued  the  girl, 
thoughtfully,  "what  you  might  do,  and  I 
will  bless  you  for  your  goodness,  if  you 
will."  "  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Floret,  eagerly. 

*l  Spare  me,  sometimes,  if  you  can,  some- 
thing out  of  what  has  been  given  you  in  the 
day  to  eat,  and  leave  it  at  night  on  the  table ; 
and  if  you  were  to  say  that  you  were  cold  in 
bed,  and  to  ask  for  more  covering,  perhaps 
they  might  give  it  to  you,  and  I  could  borrow 
it  until  just  before  dawn,  then,  perhaps,  I  might 
get  a  little  sleep,  for  the  cold  keeps  me  awake 
nearly  all  night  now." 

>  Floret's  heart  was  full.  She  stretched  out 
her  hand  to  the  girl,  and  ehe  said : 

"  Come  closer  to  me." 

The  girl  crept  up  by  her  aide,  and  took  her 
hand.  A  cold  chill  ran  up  the  arm  of  Floret, 


as  the  girl's  thin,  icy  fingers  touched  hers ; 
but  she  twined  her  arm  round  her  neck,  and 
she  whispered  in  her  ear,  as  hot  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheeks : 

"  We  have  both  no  parents,  only  God.  He 
will  not  desert  us,  and  will  not  let  theee  peo- 
ple kill  us.  No,  no ;  we  will  strive  against 
them.  It  is  only  for  a  time— only  for  a  time. 
I  shall  be  a  lady  some  day — a  high,  proud, 
grand  lady ;  think  of  that.  No ;  they  dare 
not  starve  me,  and  they  shall  not  you,  for  you 
shall  be  my  sister.  Nay,  we  are  sisters,  for 
are  we  not  orphans  ?" 

Her  new-found  companion  clung  to  her  con- 
vulsively, and  wept  upon  her  shoulder,  almost 
hysterically;  but  Floret,  whispering  to  her, 
and  kissing  her,  soothed  her,  and  persuaded 
her  to  come  into  her  bed  with  her.  And  then, 
when  she  crept  beneath  the  coverlet,  she  em- 
braced her  poor,  thin,  shivering  frame,  and 
she  made  her  place  her  wasted  arms  about  her 
neck,  and  BO,  whispering  and  weeping,  they 
dropped  off  into  a  deep  slumber. 

Floret  woke  up  as  the  sun's  first  rays  were 
darting  into  the  window,  but  found  that  her 
companion  had  disappeared. 

She  worked  hard  all  that  day,  but  was  not 
so  bright  as  usual ;  for  she  was  full  of  thought. 
She  was  reproved  sharply,  and  staggered  by 
being  informed  that  she  would  have  to  go  to 
bed  gup  peri  ess.  She  had  intended  to  save 
that  meal  for  her  new  friend.  She  implored 
and  entreated  that  it  might  be  given  to  her, 
but  both  sisters  were  inflexible  ;  and,  to  her 
surprise,  she  feund  old  Blixenfinik  harsh  to 
her.  He  told  her  that  dullness  must  not  go 
unpunished. 

She  went  out  into  the  garden,  and  ran  about 
it  wildly,  in  search  of  something  which  she 
could  take  to  her  bed-room  for  her  half  starved 
companion;  but  the  only  thing  that  she  could 
see  was  an  apple,  a  windfall,  lying  beneath  an 
apple-tree.  She  had  been  cautioned  not  to 
touch  the  windfalls,  and  she  had  promised  not 
to  do  so,  but  she  stooped  to  pick  this  one  up. 
She,  however,  drew  back.  She  remembered 
her  promise,  wrung  her  hands,  and  determined 
to  return  to  Sycorax  and  A',e.  and  make  one 
more  appeal  to  them  to  revoke  their  decision 
to  send  her  to  bed  supperless. 

A  voice  arrested  her  step.  She  turned  with 
affright.  It  was  old  Blixenfinik. 

He  held  out  to  her  a  large  rosy  apple. 

"  Take  this,"  he  said,  in  his  short,  curt  way ; 
"  you  are  entitled  to  it.  A  struggle  between 
duty  and  inclination  has  taken  place  in  your 
mind,  and  duty  has  triumphed ;  it  should  be 
rewarded.  In  later  days  that  struggle  will  be 
resumed  :  it  will  be  between  passion  and  prin- 
ciple. Give  to  principle  the  triumph,  and  you 
shall  surely  be  rewarded.  Kemember  the  lea- 
son  ;  it  may  some  day  be  of  value  to  you. 
There,  hide  tbe  apple,  and  away  to  bed  with 
you." 

She  looked  wistfully  in  his  face  ;  it  seemed 
kinder  in  its  expression  than  she  had  ever  be- 
fore seen  it.  She  kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
to  him,  and  hastened  awav. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


That  night  she  lay  awake  until  long  after 
darkness  had  set  IB,  but  she  was  just  dozing 
when  she  felt  a  cold  hand  pass  gently  over  her 
fate. 

She  tittered  an  exclamation  of  terror,  but 
her  companion  of  the  previous  night  whis- 
pered to  her,  reassured  her,  and  then  crept 
into  bed.  Floret  ga.va  her  the  apple,  which 
she  devoured  with  avidity  ;  and  they  lay  af- 
terward and  talked  in  an  undertone,  until 
sleep  closed  their  eyelids. 

It  was  strange  that  both  girls  preserved  a 
strict  silence  about  the  events  of  their  early 
life,  and  at  the  end  of  six  months  Floret  knew 
only  that  her  nightly  companion's  name  was 
Ida. 

Those  six  months  passed  away  without  any 
change.  Floret,  who  was  called  Edith,  con- 
tinued to  progress  even  better  than  before ;  for 
she  had  still  to  provide  her  companion,  Ida, 
with  supplementary  food,  and  she  was  very 
careful  not  to  incur  punishment,  which  would 
deprive  her  of  her  evening  meal.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  that  term,  however,  a  remittance 
for  Ida  arrived,  and  at  the  same  time  a  new 
pupil,  with,  perhaps,  as  sad  a  history  as 
either  of  those  who  had  preceded  her.  The 
receipt  of  the  money,  and  a  new  pupil,  un- 
locked i  Ida's  prison-doors.  She  was  permit- 
ted to  associate  with  the  new  pupil  and  with 
Floret  This  event  made  Floret's  everyday 
life  assume  a  less  dreary  form,  until  the  two 
sisters,  Ale  and  Sjcorax — curious  in  all  their 
actions — conceived  the  idea  that  familiarity 
of  intercourse  interfered  with  the  pupils' 
Btndies,  and  absorbed  the  time  which  ought  to 
be  given  to  thought ;  so  they  were  seldom  al- 
lowed to  speak  to  each  other,  and  never  to 
walk  in  the  garden,  except  singly. 

The  advertisement  in  the  Times  answered 
its  intended  effect,  for  a  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth 
pupil  arrived  at  the  dreary  old  mansion,  and 
Floret  was  compelled  to  give  up  her  kttle  bed 
to  the  newest  comer,  and,  as  Ida  had  predict- 
ed, to  lie  upon  a  few  pieces  of  carpet  on  the 
floor.  The  meals,  too,  grew  scantier,  and  she 
gradually  found  that  she  had  scarcely  enough 
given  her  to  eat  to  sustain  life,  and  none  to 
share  with  Ida,  who,  though  her  schoel-bill 
had  been  paid,  was  but  little  more  liberally 
supplied  than  before. 

One  wretched  year  closed  without  further 
ohahge. 

A  second  wretched  year,  with  a  change  only 
for  the  worse,  ensued. 

Floret's  habiliments  were  rapidly  wearing 
out,  and  she  was  as  rapidly  growing  out  of 
them.  She  was  in  her  fifteenth  year  now,  and 
bid  fair  to  be  tall,  and  she  was  undoubtedly 
icraggy. 

She  had  never  received  one  word  of  com- 
munication from  any  fcone,  even  from  Liper 
Leper,  and  she  now  comprehended  keenly 
enough  the  desolate  nature  of  her  situation. 

Two  years'  severe  application  to  study  had 
enabled  her  to  acquire  far  more  than  many 
who,  older  than  herself,  had  given  to  it  more 
than  six  times  the  period  she  had  been  under 


tuition.  But  she  had  devoted  herself  with  ar- 
dor to  her  task,  and  the  result  was  even  better 
than  she  could  have  hoped  for.  Especially 
had  she  applied  herself  to  the  study  of  music. 
Ate*  was  very  capable  of  teaching  her,  and  she 
not  only  practiced  the  manipulation  of  the 
pianoforte  keys  with  great  perseverance,  so  as 
to  become  a  proficient  player,  but  she  studied 
the  principles  of  the  art  closely. 

She  had  a  motive  :  she  wished  to  be  abl 
to  write  down  the  music  of  the  song 
"  Oranges,  sweet  Oranges,"  and  to  play  it  i  an 
manner  which  would  not  only  be  remarkable 
in  itself,  but  which  some  day  might  create  as 
great  a  sensation  as  it  had  done  on  Ascot  race- 
course. 

And  she  entered  upon  her  next  year's  pro- 
bation, but  with  a  heavy  heart ;  for  she  was 
pinched  with  want  of  food,  and  she  hated  the 
shabby  clothing,  which  she  had  herself  alter- 
ed so  as  to  suit  her  increasing  growth.  She 
began  now  to  look,  day  after  day,  at  the 
money  which  Liper  Leper  had  given  her,  and 
to  form  plans  to  get  away  from  the  dreary  old 
mansion,  and  the  people,  who  all,  save  Ida, 
had  become  insupportable. 

She  began  to  sketch  out  plans  for  an  escape. 
She  intended  to  disclose  her  purpose  to  Ida 
only,  and  if  she  agreed  to  accompany  her,  to 
take  her  with  her. 

Where? 

Alas!  for  both,  where? 

To  London. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Yet  now  despair  itself  is  mild 

Even  as  the  wind  and  waters  are; 
I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child, 

And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 
Which  I  have  borne  and  yet  mast  bear, 

Till  death-like  sleep  shall  steal  on  me, 
And  I  ehall  feel  in  the  warm  air 

My  cheek  grow  cold,  and  hear  the  sea 
Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  monotony.1* 


"  Kiss  me  !—  oh,  thy  lips  are  cold; 
Round  my  neck  thine  arms  enfold-— 
They  are  soft,  but  chill  and  dead; 
And  thy  tears  upon  my  head 
Burn  like  the  points  of  frozen  lead." 

—  MISKRT:  A. 

Floret  entered  upon  her  sixteenth  year  just 
as  the  money  which  Hagar  Lot  had  deposited 
with  the  Sisters  Ate  and  Sycorax  Blixenfinik 
was  becoming  a  recollection.  Not  that  Floret 
knew  that  she  had  passed  over  her  fifteenth 
birthday.  She  was  unacquainted  with  the  an- 
niversary of  her  natal  day,  and  she  did  not 
recollect  how  many  winters  had  passed  over 
her  head—  life,  indeed,  had  seemed  all  winter 
to  her.  She  only  knew  and  felt  that  she  had 
ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  that  it  was  time  she 
shook  off  the  thralldom  of  a  school,  the  blight- 
ing burden  of  a  starving  dependence,  and  began 
to  carve  a  path  in  the  world  for  herself. 

She  undoubtedly  inherited  much  of  her  mo- 
ther's pride  and  firmness  of  character,  no  little 
of  her  determination,  and  some  of  her  willful- 
ness, 

The  latter  was  a  defect  which  had  wrought 


BAGAR  LOT  ; 


her  mother  the  greatest  tmhappiness ;  and,  un- 1 
fortunately  for  Floret,  the  condition  of  life  in 
which  she  wan  likely  to  be  placed  was  of  such 
a  nature  that  an  indulgence  of  this  mischievous 
quality  wo«ld  probably  entail  upon  her  ruin 
and  destruction. 

To  counterbalance  it,  she  had,  however,  a 
purely  generous,  sympathetic  spirit,  a  high 
sense  of  rectituJe,  an  elevated  and  refined 
mind,  and,  withal,  a  purely  innocent  nature, 
and  soul  free  from  any  conscious  sin.  The  ed- 
ucation which  she  had  acquired  by  a  toil  of 
the  severest  character  had  done  much  to  soften 
down  the  rugged  parts  of  her  temperament, 
which  had  been  called  into  more  prominent 
action  than  they  would  have  ever  known,  had 
she  lived  a  different  life  to  that  she  had  passed 
while  under  the  dominion  of  Daddy  Windy  ; 
but  there  was  still  a  rebellious  tendency  kept 
up  in  her  breast  and  brain  by  the  harsh  un- 
kindnesa  and  the  physical  sufferings  she  was 
compelled  to  endure  while  beneath  the  roof  of 
the  Blixenfiniks,  daughters  and  father. 

We  are  justified  in  using  that  order,  in  speak 
ing  of  these  people,  for  the  daughters  having 
become  the  support  of  the  establishment,  they 
retaliated  upon  their  once  inflexible  father. 
He  had  enforced  upon  them,  during  their  child- 
hood, a  harsh,  merciless,  abstinent  discipline, 
and  they  now  retorted  upon  him  by  shrilly 
talkiBg  him  back  into  his  study  whenever  he 
came  forth,  and  by  feeding  him  upon  the  anti- 
cipation of  a  meal  rather  than  on  the  meal  it- 
self. He  had  delighted  occasionally,  when 
they  were  famished  with  hunger,  in  showing 
to  them  a  slice  of  currant-cake,  fruit,  some- 
times wine,  and  in  giving  them  a  long  lesson 
to  learn  in  lieu  of  the  delicacies.  They  made 
him  their  Tantalus  now ;  for  if  ever  they  showed 
to  bim  some  tempting  dainty,  they  regaled  him 
only  with  a  raw  turnip.  They  were  now  his 
Fates — he  called  them  his  Furise ;  but  they 
were  equally  the  merciless  Fates  of  their  pu- 
pils, for  they  ruled  them,  too,  with  a  rod  of 
i?on. 

Starvation  and  beating,  during  the  whole  of 
their  progrens  from  infancy  to  womanhood,  had 
rendered  them  savage  and  spiteful,  and  seemed 
to  have  created  an  instinctive  yearning  to  re 
taliate  upon  others  what  they  had  suffered 
themselves.  They  appeared  to  feel  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  birching  the  elements  of  knowledge 
into  their  pupils,  and  in  striving  to  discover 
where  the  line  between  starvation  and  mere  ex- 
istence could  be  drawn,  Alas !  if  success  in 
such  an  investigation  entitled  them  to  self- con- 
gratulation, they  might  have  complimented 
themselves  amid  the  silent  curses  of  their  lean, 
haggard,  wo-begone  pupils. 

Floret  had  experienced  many  hardships  while 
with  Daddy  Windy ;  but  the  life  she  led  at 
TJgglebarnby  was  in  several  degrees  yet  harder. 
Certainly,  ehe  had  a  roof  over  her  head ;  she 
had  not  to  follow  an  eleemosynary  occupation 
— though  it  might  justly  be  said  that  she  was 
herself  an  eleemosynary  still — but  she  had  to 
starve  on  the  hardest  fare,  and  go  clad  in 
patched,  faded,  and  snanty  habiliments. 


The  Misses  Blixenfinik  performed  their  > 
labors  as  eohoolmistressea  to  their  pupils  very 
completely;  for,  possessing  an  extensive  and 
varied  amount  of  knowledge,  they  imparted 
it,  or  as  much  of  it  as  was  possible,  to  their 
pupils;  they  not  only  crammed  them  thor- 
oughly, but  so  effectually,  that  their  pupils 
could  not  possibly  afterward  forget  what  they 
had  beea  taught. 

This  was  no  conscientious  discharge  of  their 
professional  duties,  but  it  arose  from  a  ma- 
lignant desire  to  make  the  poor,  helpless 
creatures,  who  were  intrusted  to  their  care, 
suffer  similar  miseries  to  those  which  they  had 
beeu  compelled  themselves  to  endure  when 
they  were  young  and  helpless,  and  likewise  to 
enable  them  to  realize  annuities  for  both  by  an 
enforced  "  rigid"  system  of  economy. 

Floret,  as  she  progressed,  formed  a  just  con- 
ception of  what  she  had  to  acquire  by  what 
she  had  mastered,  and  she  struggled  bravely 
and  enduringly  on,  in  the  hop«  that,  by  the 
] oration  of  the  term  Liper  Leper  had  named, 
ohe  should  be  able  to  turn  her  back  on  Uggle- 
jarnby  House,  and  be  able  to  earn  a  livelihood 
free  from  all  further  dependence  upoii  any  one 
—like  Hatty  Marr  had  done. 

With  this  hope  burning  ever  brightly  before 
juer,  she  worked  her  brain  until  it  ached  with 
over-exertion.  She  endured  the  scantiest  and 
most  wretched  fare  without  a  murmur ;  she 
submitted  patiently  to  petulance,  to  shrewish 
scoldings,  to  all  but  the  exercise  of  the  bireh 
rod. 

A  grand  scene  occurred  one  day,  when  the 
Sister  Sycorax,  in  a  fit  of  malignity,  attempted 
to  strike  her  with  the  rod  over  the  shoulders. 
Floret  snatched  it  from  her  hand,  tore  it  to 
shreds,  broke  some  crockery,  prized  because 
the  quantity  in  the  household  was  seriously 
sparse,  and  gave  way  to  an  ebullition  ol  frantia 
anger,  which  she  en<*ed  by  rushing  into  the 
garden  and  secreting  herself  there  until  long 
after  sun-down. 

She  frightened  Ate*  and  Sycorax  out  of  at- 
tempting to  employ  the  rod  in  correcting  her 
again,  not,  perhaps,  that  they  cared  for  her  pao- 
sion,  or  for  her  hiding  herself  away,  but  be- 
cause, in  such  another  fit,  ehe  might  destroy 
more  crockery,  and,  perhaps,  something  more 
valuable  still.  But  they  never  afterward  for- 
got or  forgave  her  conduct. 

The  result  to  Floret  was  incessant  misery. 
In  her  cloudy  gloomy  daily  life  no  stnshine 
penetrated  even  for  a  moment.  She  rose  at 
daybreak  to  labor,  and  to  test  the  necessity  of 
food  to  sustain  life  by  the  miserable  quantity 
doled  out  to  her,  by  the  eojoyment  with  which 
she  sometimes  devoured  a  hard,  almost  mouldy 
crust,  by  the  exquisite  flavour  which  a  peeled, 
uncooked  turnip  seemed  on  tasting  it,  and  tiie 
keen  relish  with  which  she  devoured  it,  when- 
ever Ida  contrived  to  obtain  one  by  some 
species  of  necroman%y,  and  divided  it  between 
them  in  the  dark  hours  after  sundown. 

All  day  it  was  mental  toil;  at  night,  a  species  t 
of  jaded,  harassed  sleep.  There  was  no* 
change.  No  one,  during  the  whole  time  she 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


41 


had  been  at  Ugglebarnby  House,  had  made  a 
solitary  inquiry  respecting  her — not  the 
strange  gipsy  woman  who  conveyed  her  there, 
nor  Liper  Leper,  nor  the  lady  in  whose  beauti- 
ful house  she  had  been  BO  carefully  tended 
When  iH  of  that  sharp  fever. 

JTor  by  Hatty  Marr,  nor  by  Mamma  Atten, 
Dt>,not  by  one  living,  breathing  being. 

It  would  almost  have  been  a  relief  to  the 
monotony  of  her  miserable  life  if  Baddy 
Windy  had  broken  in  once  more  upon  her, 
and  had  attempted  to  drag  her  away. 

The  Misses  Blixenfinik  had  often  taunted 
her  with  her  isolated,  deserted  condition,  and 
she  had  to  submit  to  those  sneers  in  silence, 
for' she  w%s  utterly  without  reply— utterly. 
Poor  girl,  nhe  felt  her  condition  acutely,  and 
would  often  pray  for  that  long,  long  sleep  in 
which  it  is  presumed  that  the  bitter  miseries  of 
this  world  are  all  forgotten. 

When  the  three  years  for  which  Hagar  Lot 
had  paid  for  in  advance  were  on  the  ere  of  ex- 
piration, and  there  was  still  no  sign  of  any 
communication  from  those  who  kad  placed 
her  there,  the  sisters  commenced  playing  the 
parts  of  the  Furise  in  earnest. 

They  nearly  doubled  her,  work,  so  that  she 
was  engaged  from  dawn  to  dark,  and  they 
commenced  further  limiting  the  already  in- 
sufficient quantity  of  food  with  which  she  was 
daily  supplied,  while  their  remarks  to  her  were 


Then  she  went  carefully  over  the  accomp- 
lishments she  now  possessed.  She  was  mis- 
tress of  her  own  language,  of  the  history  of 
her  nation  and  of  others  ;  she  was  not  only 
an  excellent  arithmetician,  but  a  fair  mathe- 
matician. She  had  no  mean  knowledge  of 
the  classics.  She  could  speak  and  read 
French  and  Italian,  and  could  read  and 
translate  German  and  Spanish  tolerably.  She 
could  draw  prettily.  She  had  mastered  all 
the  elements  which  would  make  her  an  excel- 
lent musician,  and  a  finished  performer  on 
the  pianoforte,  for  Miss  Ate  Blixenfinik  was 
an  able  teacher,  and  she  was  an  apt  pupil. 
She  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  she 
had  worked  very  hard  for  three  years  at  the 
study,  and  had  never  missed,  for  one  day,  her 
three  hours'  practice.  In  short,  she  found 
herself  to  be  far  more  advanced  in  most  of  the 
branches  of  education  than  she  had  imagined 
herself  to  be,  and,  as  she  believed,  she  was 
sufficiently  well  grounded  in  knowledge  to 
now  take  the  step  which  she  had  locg  medi- 
tated. 

By  the  aid  of  the  money  which  Liper  Leper 
had  placed  in  her  hands,  she  resolved  to  find 
her  way  to  London,  and,  when  there,  to  seek 
out  Susan  Atten.  She  did  not  suppose  that 
she  should  meet  with  any  difficulty  in  discov- 
ering her,  and,  when  she  had  succeeded  in  do- 
ing that,  she  believed  that  the  remainder  of 
task  would  be  easy. 

Sh«  feared,  however,  strange  to  say,  at- 
tempting this  feat  alone.  Naturally  self  pos- 
sessed, self-reliant,  and  resolute,  she  yet 
read«d  to  undertake  her  flight  without  a  com- 


panion. This  apprehension  arose  from  sheer 
nervous  weakness.  The  low  scale  of  diet  on 
which  she  had  been  kept  had  robbed  her  of 
powers  which  she  would  readily  have  exhibit- 
ed, if  her  physical  strength  had  been  sustained 
by  proper  food,  and  enough  of  it. 

But  it  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  obtain 
some  one  upon  whom  she  could  rely  to  ac- 
company her  in  her  flight.  When  she  first 
decided  to  make  her  way  to  London,  her  mind 
reverted  at  once  to  her  schoolfellow,  Ida,  aa 
her  companion  ;  but  her  education  had  made 
her  reflective,  and  she  considered,  with  no 
little  anxiety  and  uneasiness,  how  far  she 
should  be  justified  in  inducing  Ida  to  leave  the 
school. 

She  knew  that  she  was  miserable,  and,  like 
herself,  an  orphan;  but  probably  she  had 
some  friends  who  might  be  deeply  grieved 
and  offended  if  she  were  to  take  any  such  step, 
and  any  harm  should  befall  her.  Indeed, 
Floret  felt  that  she  should  be  grieved,  too,  if, 
after  having  prevailed  upon  her  to  join  her  in 
her  flight  from  the  horrors  of  Blixenfinik 
House,  Ida  met  with  any  misfortune,  which, 
perhaps,  could  not  be  repaired.  So,  after 
long  and  anxious  consideration,  she  nerved 
herself  to  face  the  difficulties  of  her  task,  and 
resolved  to  dare  the  exploit  alone. 

Under  the  pretence  of  sketching  from  na- 
ture, and  making  an  offer  to  forego  her  supper, 
she  obtained  leave  to  proceed  to  the  mound, 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  garden,  one  evening 
an  hour  before  sundown. 

Here  she  resolved  to  look  attentively  at  the 
landscape  beneath  her,  and  endeavor  to  mark 
out  a  track  which  would  be  best  for  her  to 
take  Deleaving  the  Blixenfinik  mansion.  She 
knew  that  she  would  have  to  depart  in  dark- 
ness, but  she  hoped  that,  by  noting  down  the 
direction  it  would  be  advisable  to  take,  she 
would  be  able  to  follow  it  by  the  position  of 
the  stars,  if  the  sky  should  happen  to  be  clear  ; 
and  certainly  she  did  not  intend  to  venture  un- 
less it  happened  to  be  so. 

While  seated  alone,  contemplating  the  tum- 
bling waves  of  the  turbid  North  Sea,  and  cogi- 
tating deeply  upon  her  probable  future,  she 
felt  a  cold  hand  steal  round  her  neck.  She 
uttered  a  half-suppressed  scream,  and  turned 
to  see  who  it  was  who  had  touched  her. 

It  was  Ida.  Ida,  with  a  pale,  almost  livid, 
face.  Ida,  with  streaming  eyes  and  knitted 
brows,  which  had,  in  their  expression,  a  mean- 
ing of  a  very  desperate  character. 

"  Do  not  you  shrink  from  me,  Edith,"  she 
sobbed,  in  a  faint  and  feeble  tone ;  "  I  have 
only  come  to  bid  you  farewell — a  long,  long 
farewell." 

Floret  started,  and  looked  earnestly  at  her. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?"  she  inquired,  in  a 
quick,  eager  voice. 

"  I  am !"  answered  Ida,  bowing  her  head, 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  When  ?"  interrogated  Floret,  earnestly. 

"To-night!"  muttered  Ida,  between  hei 
compressed  lips.  "To-night!"  she  repeated, 
in  a  strange  tone  ;  "  to-night !" 


HAGAK  LOT  ; 


"To-night!"  echoed  Floret,  with  surprise  ; 
"  whither  are  you  going,  Ida?" 

"  To  Heaven,  if  it  will  receive  me  I"  cried 
Ida,  clutching  Floret's  hand,  and  speaking 
with  a  passionate  energy ;  "  if  not,  to  perdi- 
tion— I  care  not  where,  BO  that  it  is  out  of  this 
hateful  world." 

"In  the  name  of  mercy,  what  do  yon  con- 
template ?"  gasped  Floret,  her  wan  face  grow- 
ing yet  whiter. 

"  Death,  Edith !— death !"  responded  Ida, 
wringing  her  hand  convulsively.  "  I  will  not 
live  any  longer  in  this  horrible  world." 

"  O,  Ida,  Ida !  what  has  happened  to  make 
you  utter  those  terrible  words  ?"  cried  Floret, 
agitatedly. 

Ida  moved  her  head  nearer  to  her,  and 
turned  her  thin,  flushed  face  up  to  hers.  She 
bent  he :  burning,  black  eyes  upon  her,  wildly, 
and,  in  a  hissing  whisper,  said : 

"They  have  been  flogging  me,  Edith — 
flogging  me.  I,  who  am  a  woman  grown — a 
woman  in  feeling,  heart,  and  in  self-respect. 
Those  slow  murderers,  Ate*  and  Sycorax,  fast- 
ened upon  me  a  fault  I  had  not  committed, 
and,  to  save  the  few  crumbs  which  they  ought 
to  have  doled  out  to  me,  they  affected  anger — 
rage.  Ate*  seized  me,  and  held  me  tightly, 
while  Sycorax  lashed  me,  with  a  birchen  rod, 
about  the  shoulders.  Look,  Edith,  look — here 
are  the  weals." 

She  raised  the  thin,  worn  sleeves  of  her 
frock,  and  displayed  her  poor  skeleton  arms, 
scored  by  many  a  livid  mark. 
Florei  shuddered. 

"  I  would  not  have  submitted  to  the  infa- 
mous indignity!"  she  exclaimed,  indignant- 
ly- 

"  O  Edith !"  returned  Ida,  hysterically,  "  I 
struggled  with  them,  but  I  have  no  strength  ; 
I  am  starving,  and  I  was  wholly  powerless  in 
the  hands  of  the  fiend,  Sycorax.  I  fainted, 
and  I  know  not  how  long  I  remained  in  that 
condition ;  but  I  awoke  in  oar  loathsome 
sleeping  den,  and  found  my  hair,  face,  and 
neck,  saturated,  as  you  see,  with  water.  You 
were  not  in  the  room,  and,  defying  all  they 
may  attempt  to  inflict  upon  me  now,  I  have 
come  in  search  of  you,  to  bid  you  farewell  for- 
ever— you,  Edith,  who  alone  have  spoken  a 
kind  word  to  me— who  alone  have  looked  ten- 
derly upon  me.  May  God  bless  you,  Edith, 
and  remove  you  soon  from  hence.  As  for  me, 
I  can  no  longer  endure  the  struggle.  Life  is 
insupportable  to  me— it  is  torture,  inexpressi- 
ble torture,  to  me— I  must  end  it.  0,  Edith, 
I  am  hopeless — wholly  hopeless — and  this 
night  I  will  end  my  wretched  life,  for  I  am  an 
outcast  and  friendless—utterly  friendless." 

Floret  twined  her  arms  hastily  about  her 
neck,  and  drew  her  weeping  face  to  her  own 
bosom. 

Twice,  thrice,  half  a  dozen  times  she  tried 
to  speak  to  her ;  but  she,  too,  was  weak  from 
long  fasting,  was  easily  moved  to  tears,  and, 
in  spite  of  her  effort,  was  unable  to  restrain  a 
wild  gush  of  bitter  emotion. 
At  length,  she  obtained  something  like  self- 


control,  and  she  whispered  to  her  thin,  trem- 
bling, miserable  companion : 

"  Not  friendless,  Ida— not  utterly  friendless ; 
for  I  will  be  your  friend,  if  you  will  have  me 
for  one." 

Ida  wrung  her  hands ;  she  raised  her  lips 
and  kissed  Floret's,  and,  clinging  closer  to  her, 
she  murmured : 

"Ah,  yes!  I  know  your  tender,  sympa- 
thetic heart,  Edith ;  but  you  are  powerless  to 
help  me,  even  as  I  am  to  aid  you.  I  haye 
nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  misery,  wretch- 
edness—something, though  I  can  give  it  no 
shape,  which  I  dread  to  encounter.  It  will  be 
easier  to  die  than  to  face  it.  And  you,  dear 
Edith,  in  how  much  is  your  position  better 
han  mine  ?  0 1  let  us  die  together,  and  end 
this  dreadful,  lingering  torment,  whicb  is  coa- 
ducting  us  both  to  the  same  goal,  but  by  ilow- 
er  and  more  excrutiating  torture !" 

Floret  had  often  contemplated  fastening 
upon  her  own  life,  and  destroying  it.  Now 
that  the  act  was  brought,  with  startling  vivid- 
ity,  before  her  by  another,  she  shrunk  from 
it  with  a  species  of  horror.  Contemplated  at 
a  distance,  it  was  an  alternative  which  she  had 
considered  that  she  was  not  only  justly  enti- 
tled to  use,  but  that  it  would  be  wisdom  to 
adopt  it.  She  thought  differently  now. 

She  pressed  Ida  yet  closer  to  her  bosom,  and 
whispered  to  her : 

"  No,  Ida,  dear,  you  must  not  make  any  at- 
tempt upon  your  life.  Any  deed  that  bears 
the  dreadful  name  of  murder  must  be  a  crime ; 
and  the  act  you  contemplate  is  called  self. 
murder — ' : 

"  Dear  Edith,  do  not,  I  entreat  you,  reason 
with  me !"  interposed  Ida,  earnestly. 

But  Floret  placed  her  attenuated,  trans- 
parent fingers  before  her  mouth,  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  Let  me  speak !  You  shall,  Ida,  bid  fare- 
well to  this  dismal  abode,  and  to  its  fiendish 
mistress,  to-night,  but  not  by  the  means  you 
propose." 

"  By  what  means  ?"  inquired  Ida,  eagerly. 
"  Listen !"  continued  Floret.  "  I,  like  you, 
I  suppose,  do  not  know  who  I  am,  or  who  the 
people  are  who  placed  me  here ;  but  I  have  a 
friend,  of  whom  I  know  nothing,  save  that  he 
is  a  friend,  who  parted  with  me  in  this  garden 
three  years  ado.  He  prophesied  that  a  time 
would  come  when  I  should  wish  to  escape  from 
this  dreadful  prison,  and  he  told  me  that  I 
could  not  do  so  unless  I  had  money.  He  gave 
me  money,  which  I  have  kept  in  secret  and  sa- 
cred safety  ever  since.  The  time  has  come, 
Ida,  when  to  fly  from  this  starvation  becomes 
a  duty— I  mean  to  do  so  to-night  We  have 
endured  together  great  misery,  Ida ;  I  do  not 
think  it  possible  we  can  meet  with  worse ;  but 
if  you  will  freely  and  voluntarily  share  my  fu- 
ture with  me,  we  will  escape  from  the  Furise 
to-night." 

Ida,  who  had  hung  tremblingly  on  every 
word  that  left  Floret's  lips,  now  fall  on  her 
knees  before  her.  She  clasped  them ;  ehe 
kissed  her  hands— even  her  garments. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


43 


"  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  end  of  the  world," 
she  said,  with  streaming  eyes.  "O,  take  me 
with  you,  Edith,  in  common  charity,  in  mercy ! 
If  I  had  risen  up  at  tomorrow's  dawn,  and 
found  that  you  had  fled  without  me,  I  should 
have  fallen  down  dead.  You  will  take  me  with 
you,  Edith  ?  Dear  Edith,  you  will  not  go  away 
and  leave  me  here  to  drain  down  a  draught  of 
poison,  or  to  fling  myself  down  a  deep  well  in 
the  kitchen-garden,  with  a  reproach  at  your 
unkindness  upon  my  lips — you  will  not  ?" 

"You  will  go  with  me,  Ida,"  answered  Flor- 
et; '*  but  you  must  be  very  circumspect — " 

"  Hush'!"  exclaimed  Ida,  suddenly,  in  a  very 
low  tone.  "  My  hearing  is  very  acute — I  hear 
a  footstep  approaching." 

The  words  had  barely  quitted  her  lips,  when 
the  form  of  Miss  Sycorax  appeared  upon  the 
grass  and  weed-covered  walks. 

She  was  looking  cautiously  about  her,  but 
the  moment  she  caught  sight  of  Floret,  with 
Ida  crouching  at  her  feet,  ahe  increased  her 
pace  to  a  very  nimble  run. 

She  made  a  dash  like  a  tigress  at  Ida,  but 
Floret  rose  up  and  stood  between  them. 

She  thrust  Miss  Sycorax  Blixeafinik  back. 
Her  wondrous  spirit  alone  gave  her  the 
•trength  to  do  it. 

"  Respect  your  own  position,  Madam,"  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  firm  and  dignified  tone,  "  and 
you  will  command  respect;  at  present,  you 
only  inspire  fear  and  hate." 

Miss  Sycorax  gazed  at  her  with  unqualified 
surprise.  Having  constantly  received  from 
Floret  a  kind  of  dull,  passive  obedience,  she 
was  not  a  little  startled  by  the  commanding 
manner  in  which  she  addressed  her,  and  the 
haughty  bearing  she  assumed. 

At  first  she  remained  speechless,  and  then 
she  said,  with  a  face  white  with  rage : 

"  Permit  me  to  suggest  to  you  that  it  will 
be  unwise  in  you  to  interfere.  Retnrn  to  the 
house ;  take  back  with  you  your  drawing-uten- 
sils, and  retire  to  your  sleeping-apartment.  I 
shall  know  how  to  deal  with  you  by  and  by." 

"  And  I  with  you,  Madam,  if  you  overstep 
the  boundaries  of  your  position,''  replied  Flo- 
ret, coldly  but  firmly.  "I  am  acquainted 
with  mine,  and,  while  I  do  nothing  to  forfeit 
my  own  sense  of  self-respect,  I  will  suffer  no 
one  to  abuse — " 

"  You  have  begun  to  play  the  fane  lady 
somewhat  prematurely,"  interrupted  the  wnth- 
ful  Sycorax,  with  apparent  polite  calmness,  al- 
though she  trembled  with  rage  ;  "  but  you  will 
very  shortly,  in  all  probability,  have  to  beg 
for  your  bread  and  butter.  A  few  days,  and 
the  term  for  which  we  have  been  paid  for  your 
liberal  education  and  board  will  have  terminat- 
ed. Since  no  one  has  made  a  single  inquiry 
respecting  you  during  your  sojourn  here,  you 
will,  no  doubt,  have  to  be  thrust  forth  by  us, 
be  confined  in  a  workhouse,  and  eventually  die 
upon  a  dunghill." 

"  You  are  trying  to  make  us  die  before  we 
can  reach  any  place  to  take  our  last  repose  in," 
exclaimed  Ida,  gathering  spirit  from  Floret's 
demeanor.  "  I  do  fervently  hope  that  yow  will 


end  your  days  on  a  spot  very  much  less  salu- 
brious than  the  one  you  have  named." 

"  I  will  not  interchange  words  with  you," 
cried  the  Sister  Sycorax,  grating  her  teeth  ma. 
ignantly.  "You  have  thought  proper  to 
leave  your  chamber,  in  which  you  were  or- 
dered to  remain,  and  you  shall  pass  the  re- 
mainder of  this  night!"  and  the  whole  of  to- 
morrow, in  the  dark  vault,  sucking  your 
thumbs  ;  for  nothing  else,  I  vow,  shall  touch 
your^lips,  unless  it  be  a  bat,  a  spider,  or  a 

Ida  uttered  a  cry  of  fright. 

"  I  will  not  go,"  she  said,  with  expanded  eye- 
lids and  chattering  of  teeth. 

'« We  will  soon  test  that,"  exclaimed  the  an- 
tique maiden  Sycorax,  exhibiting  her  teeth 
after  the  unattractive  manner  of  a  tigress  in 
anger. 

She  made  another  dash  at  Ida,  but  Floret 
once  more  interveaed. 

"  She  shall  not  go !"  she  exclaimed,  spirit- 

!1"     "  That  horrible  vault  is  not  fit  for  a  hu- 


man creature  to  step  into,  far  less  to  remain  in. 
Woman,  you  are  a  schoolmistress,  but  not  an 
irresponsible  tyrant.  She  shall  not  go.  My 
blood  is  up  now,  and  I  will  not  suffer  you  to 
drag  her  Jfchither  without  doing  all  in  my  power 
to  resist  you." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Sycorax,  deliriously; 
"  ho !  ho  I"  she  grinned,  spasmodically ;  "  he ! 
he !  We  are  in  a  state  of  mutiny — we  are  in 
open  rebellion.  The  whole  establishment  is, 
for  all  I  know,  on  the  eve  of  an  insurrection. 
Minion !  kinless !  nameless  I  rebel  in  the  vault, 
you  shall  obey  us  here !" 

"We  will  obey  you  no  longer  anywhere!" 
exclaimed  Ida,  holding  her  clenched  hands  to- 
ward her,  and  speaking  with  desperate  deter- 
mination. "You  have  starved  me  on  to  the 
confines  of  death,  you  have  tried  by  the  lash 
to  drive  me  into  its  jaws— I  will  endure  no 
more.  I  will  fly  from  you,  but  I  leave  you  my 
curse !  You  shall  not  close  your  eyes  but  you 
shall  see  niy  emaciated,  wasted  form  before 
your  eyes.  If  I  die  in  nay  flight  from  you  oi 
exhaustion,  as  I  fear  I  must,  my  gaunt  shadowy 
phantom  shall  come  to  your  bedside  at  night, 
and  harry  you  with  shrieks  and  cries,  bidding 
you  despair,  for  there  will  be  no  hope  for  you 
here  or  hereafter.  Henceforth  I  will  haunt 
you  like  a  spectre!" 

"  This  is  too  much  I"  cried  Sycorax,  with  a 
wild  howl.  "You  sisters  in  rebellion  shall 
entertain  yourselves  in  the  vaults  to-night. 
You  shall  both  pass  twenty-four  hours  in  them, 
There  is  one  cell  for  each,  and,  no  doubt,  be- 
fore they  have  run  out,  you  will  be  humble 
enough  to  beg  for  mercy  and  leniency.  I  will 
go  and  fetch  Atd,  and  other  assistance.  We 
will  speedily  lock  you  up,  in  spite  of  youff 
struggles  and  promisee  to  behave  better  for 
the  future.  Ate  1  Sister  Att  I  Ai6 1  Ate* !"  she 
called,  shrilly,  and  ran  in  the  direction  of  the 
house. 

Floret  caught  hold  of  Ida's  wrist,  and  point- 
ed to  the  gloomy  fire  in  the  distance. 

"  Not  a  word  to  me,  Ida,"  she  said,  in  a 


. 

HAGAR  LOT  ; 


quick  undertone,  "  but  take  the  path  to  the 
left.  There  is  a  channel  in  the  undergrowth 
along  which  you  can  easily  pass  ;  it  leads  to 
the  base  of  the  hill.  At  the  bottom  you  will 
find  three  routes.  The  right-hand  path  ap- 
pears to  double  back  to  the  garden.  On  the 
contrary,  it  will  conduct  you  by  a  near  way  to 
the  black  firs;  proceed  along  it  until  you 
reach  them  ;  hide  yourself  among  them  any- 
where there  without  dread.  There  will  be 
nothing  there  more  eyil  thaa  your  thoughts  or 
your  hopes  to  harm  you,  so  have  no  fear.  I 
will  follow  you  when  night  has  set  in.  I  will 
elap  my  hands  thrice  when  I  reach  the  entrance 
of  the  plantation.  Do  not  move  until  you 
hear  that  sound,  then  come  forth  and  join  me. 
Quick,  Ida,  away  with  you,  or  they  will  be 
back  here  to  seize  you.  and  I  shall  not  be  able 
to  defend  you." 

Ida  twined  her  arms  about  Floret,  with  a 
moaning  cry,  and  kissed  her  passionately. 
Then  ehe  hurried  down  the  path  to  the  left, 
and  was  almost  instantly  out  of  sight. 

Floret  stood  still  and  listened  ;  her  heart 
beat  violently  ;  she  heard  Ida's  foot  pressing 
on  the  dried  twigs,  and  cracking  them  as  she 
moved  onward.  Bhe  knew  that  she  was  very 
feeble,  and  she  feared  that  she  would  not  be 
able  to  get  far  enough  away  before  the  sisters 
and  their  assistants  arrived  and  discovered  the 
path  she  had  taken,  and  she  trembled  so  exces- 
sively that  she  was  obliged  to  cling  to  the 
branch  of  a  tree  for  support. 

But  the  sound  of  Ida's  retreating  footsteps 
died  on  her  ear,  and  they  ceased  entirely  as  the 
rapid  beat  of  feet  in  the  opposite  direction  arose 
in  the  still  air. 

She  knew  by  those  sounds  that  the  enemy 
was  at  hand,  and  she  seemed  to  gather  strength 
from  the  knowledge. 

She  drew  herself  up  erect,  and  standing 
proudly,  firmly  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 


Pale  and  wasted  as  she  was,  attenuated  al 
most  to  a  shadow,  with  garment!  thin  and  poor 
clinging  to  her  form  as  closely,  and  falling  as 
gracefully  as  the  drapery  upon  the  maidens 
who  have  sprung  from  the  magic  chisels  of  the 
old  Greek  sculptors,  she  yet  looked  strikingly 
•ommanding,  and  wondrously  beautiful. 

She  was  as  tall  as  she  was  almost  ever  likely 
to  be  ;  fairer,  it  was  not  possible  to  be  ;  more  ex 
quisitely  formed,  she  could  not  be  ;  and  poor 
though  she  was,  duchess  though  she  might 
be,  she  could  not  have  looked  loftier  or  more 
dignified  than  she  did  at  that  moment. 

She  turned  her  large  lustrous  blue  eyes,  glit- 
tering and  stern,  toward  the  direction  in  which 
she  heard  the  sounds  of  advancing  feet.  She 
for  a  moment  only  seemed  to  hear  some  words 
breathed  in  her  ear  by  the  voice  of  Liper 
Leper. 

She  started,  shrunk  back,  but  the  emotion 
was  only  momentary,  she  immediately  recov 
ered  her  self-possession,  and  stood  expectantly 
as  before. 

She  was  not  long  in  suspense.  Sister  Syco- 
r*x  quickly  made  jher  appearance,  rod  in  hand, 


and  panting  for  breath.  She  was  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Ate',  who  carried  in  her  hand  a  small 
hank  of  cord,  which  was  about  the  thickness  of 
her  little  finger.  They  were  gyves  for  Ida  and 
Floret.  Behind  them  came  the  pupils,  gliding 
to  the  spot  like  a  band  of  famine-stricken  spec- 
tres who  had  died  of  starvation. 

The  two  sisters  glared  round  for  Ida,  and 
then  fastened  their  ID  flamed  eyes  upon  Floret, 
who  stood  calm  and  motionless. 

The  pupils  turned,  too,  their  large  hollow 
eyes  upon  Floret,  and  silently  ranged  them- 
selves round  her. 

For  a  minute  not  a  word  was  spoken. 

CHAPTER  XI. 
"  Thou  poor  pale  piece 

Of  outcast  earth  in  darkness  !    What  a  change 
From  yesterday  !    Thy  darling  hope  so  near 
(Long-labored  prize),  O  how  ambition  fiush'd 
Thy  glowing  cheek  !  ambition  truly  great, 
Of  virtuous  praise       *        *        * 
(Sly,  treacherous  miner  !)  working  in  the  darky 
Smil'd  at  thy  well  concerted  scheme." 

— LIFB,DKATII,  AND  IMMOBILITY* 

Sister  Sycorax  was  the  first  to  break  the  mo- 
mentous silence. 

She  shook  the  rod  and  her  clenched  fiat  in 
Floret's  face. 

Floret  knitted  her  brow,  and  compressed  her 
lips,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  Speak,  you  disaffected,  disloyal,  abandon- 
ed pervert,"  cried  Ate*,  maliciously. 

"  Seek,  her,"  replied  Floret,  apparently  un- 
moved by  the  wrathful,  threatening  coun- 
tenances of  the  two  sisters.  "  You  will  find 
her  quicker  and  more  easily  than  you  will  ex- 
tort from  me  whither  she  has  gone." 

"  Speak,  or  I'll  strike  you  to  the  earth  with 
this  rod,"  cried  Sycorax,  passionately. 

Floret  raised  her  finger  warning ly. 

"  Beware  how  you  approach  that  denying 
weapon  too  closely  to  rne,"  she  said,  sternly. 
<4  You  once  attempted  the  act ;  you  afterward 
repented  it.  If  you  move  it  so  near  to  me  that 
but  one  spray  of  it  touches  my  dress,  I  will 
turn  upon  you  and  sting  you  as  fatally  as  would 
an  adder."  . 

Atd  threw  up  her  hands,  and  flourished  the 
cords  about  wildly. 

"You  will  do  what?"  exclaimed  Sycerax 
taking  a  firmer  grasp  of  the  rod,  and  sidling 
up  toward  her. 

44  Use  this  weapon !"  returned  Floret,  sharp- 
ly, between  her  set  teeth. 

She  drew  forth  swiftly  from  her  bosom  the 
poniard  which  Liper  Leper  had  given  to  her. 
She  had  worn  it  where  she  could  instantly 
reach  it  night  and  day  since  she  had  received 
it  from  him.  She  whipped  off  the  sheath,  and 
held  it  up  firmly,  grasping  the  handle,  to  the 
view  of  Sycorax. 

"  Its  point  is  tipped  with  a  subtle  poison, 
and  a  scratch  from  it  proves  inevitably  fatal," 
she  subjoined.  "  Will  you  dere,  woman  of 
the  r  reiless  heart,  to  test  it  ?" 

Sycorai  retreated  hastily  peveral  s^eps. 

<k  Wretch !"  she  screamed,  "  would  you  com- 
mit murder  ?" 

"  I  will  at  any  cost  or  sacrifice  exact  my  r$- 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


45 


venge  if  you  inflict  upon  me  a  blow,  however 
slight,  with  that  weapon,  if  your  intent  be  to 
punish  or  to  degrade  me,"  returned  Floret, 
resolutely. 

"  You  will  be  hanged,  monster !"  cried  Ate, 
with  a  rapid,  nervous  twitching  of  the  nose, 
and  a  swift  blinking  of  the  eyes. 

The  lip  of  Floret  curled  scornfully  and  de- 
risively. 

"  That  would  be  a  less  degradation  to  me 
than  to  bear  the  humiliation  of  a  blow  from 
that  bundle  of  withes,  the  contact  of  any  one 
of  which  is  an  insult  which  nothing  can  wash 
out.  As  a  child,  it  might  not  have  wounded 
my  pride  ;  as  a  woman,  I  will  resent  it  at  teh 
cost  of  my  life." 

"  A  woman?"  sneered  Ate*,  with  a  curiously- 
empty  laugh,  but  betraying  a  very  wholesome 
fear  that  she  would  keep  her  word  if  either  of 
them  struck  her — "  a  woman !  The  creature 
is  deranged.  Leave  her,  my  precious  Psyche" 
—that  was  Ate's  endearing  abbreviation  of 
Sycorax — "  leave  her,  my  soul,  my  butterfly, 
and  let  us  search  for  the  oti*er  rebel.  We  shall 
find  her  hidden  somewhere  in  the  garden,  I 
am  sure,  and  when  we  have  safely  disposed  of 
her,  we  shall  find  a  way  to  manage  this  dread- 
ful creature.  Hasten,  Psyche!— come  birds, 
come  chicks,  we  will  soon  net  the  naughty  fly- 
away!" 

80  saying,  she,  keeping  somewhat  wide  of 
Floret's  reach,  hastened  up  the  garden. 

Sycorax  shook  rod  and  hand  at  Floret,  and 
foamed  at  the  mouth. 

"Wait  until  you  sleep,  vixen,"  she  cried, 
between  her  teeth ;  "  I'll  bind  you  hand  and 
feet,  take  your  murderous  plaything  from  you, 
and  flay  the  devil  out  of  your  dainty  limbs,  I 
will— I  will !" 

She  moved  off  after  her  sister  as  she  spoke, 
and  made  a  wide  circuit,  too,  round  Floret ; 
for  she  did  not  like  the  look  of  her  eyes,  they 
were  fixed  so  steadfastly  upon  her,  and  they 
glittered  eo  brightly. 

The  chicks,  the  birds — by  which  fond  name 
Ate*  meai»t  her  starved,  ill- treated  pupils — 
followed  the  eieters  ;  but  they  looked  piteous- 
ly  on  Floret  as  they  moved  away. 

Ono  clasped  her  hands,  acd  muttered : 

'•  O  Edith !  do  not  continue  perverse !  Fall 
upon  your  knees,  and  implore  pardon,  or  they 
will  kill  you  I" 

Floret  unknitted  her  brow;  but  she  only 
said: 

"  Pray  for  me !" 

"  I  will— I  will !"  muttered  the  girl,  as  she 
glided  away 

"  I  will  for  you,"  responded  Floret,  solilo- 
quizing ;  "  Heaven  knows  that  if  you  remain 
here  you  will  have  need  of  my  prayers  !" 

She,  too,  then  hastened  from  the  spot,  and 
entered  the  house  with  a  swift,  light  step. 

She  proceeded  to  the  chamber,  which  by  a 
fiction  was  termed  hers,  and  selected  some 
necet-sary  clothing,  both  of  her  own  and  Ida's. 
She  put  on  her  brown  beaver  hat,  and  her 
cloak  ;  she  secrete^  beneath  her  cloak  Ida'r 
hat,  adorned,  like  her  own,  with  a  soiled  white 


ostrich  feather,  once  a  handsome  plume,  and 
she  wore  her  mantle  over  her  own.  She  made 
up  all  she  wished  to  take  away  with  her  into 
two  bundles  ;  they  were  not  large  ones,  be  it 
understood — she  was  not,  nor  was  Ida,  suffi- 
ciently well  provided  with  attire  for  that— but 
they  contained  everything  likely  to  be  of  uae 
to  her  and  to  Ida,  and  to  enable  "them  to  reach 
London  without  being  absolutely  distressed  for 
a  change. 

This  done,  she  began  to  concert  measures 
by  which  she  could  escape  from  the  house  un- 
seen. 

Old  Blixenfinik  was,  she  knew,  in  his  study, 
poring  over  an  old  Latin  MS.,  sent  to  him  for 
translation  by  a  neighboring  clergyman.  The 
woman  who  attended  to  the  hardest  portion  oi 
the  household  duties  had  departed  from  the 
house,  and  was  on  her  way  home.  The  old 
mansion  appeared  silent  and  deserted,  for  the 
Furiffl  were  yet  beating  the  rank  undergrowth 
in  the  garden,  expecting  to  find  the  trembling 
hare  of  which  they  were  in  search  of  cowering 
beneath  one  of  the  bushes,  half-dead  with 
terror. 

Floret,  with  her  money,  and  her  poniard  in 
the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  a  bundle  in  each 
hand,  glided  down  the  stairs  like  a  phantom. 

As  she  reached  the  hall,  *he,  to  her  diemay, 
saw,  advancing  toward  her  along  the  passage, 
with  out-stretched  hands,  old  Blixenfinik.  He 
was  calling  out,  alt  bough  in  feeble  tones : 

"  Stop  her !  stop  her  1" 

Bhe  retreated  up  a  few  of  the  stairs  again 
hastily  and  in  affright  but,  to  her  relief,  she 
saw  him  hurry  past  her,  and  almost  imme- 
diately she  discovered  that  he  was  in  pursuit 
of  a  lean  anatomy  of  a  cat,  which  having  un- 
expectedly perceived  an  opportunity  of  steal- 
ing Lis  supper,  had  pounced  upon  it,  and 
made  off  with  it. 

Again  she  descended  to  the  hall,  and  glided 
out  of  the  house  into  the  garden,  hoping,  by 
crouching  down  and  crawling  stealthily  be- 
neath the  bushes,  to  escape  observation,  and 
join  Ida  before  her  departure  could  be  dis- 
covered. • 

But  again  she  was  doomed  to  the  peril  of 
being  detected  in  her  flight,  for  while  creeping 
along  the  bramble- covered  pathway,  she  sud- 
denly heard  the  sisters  Sycorax  and  Ate*  ad- 
vancing, beating  the  bushes,  in  her  direction. 

She  saw  that  there  was  no  possibility  oi 
escape.  If  she  attempted  to  gain  the  path 
leading  to  the  plantation  of  firs,  she  could  not 
do  eo  wiikout  being  seen ;  if  she  endeavored  to 
reach  the  bouse  again,  it  would  be  at  the 
price  of  certain  discovery. 

She  instantly  forced  her  way  beneath  a 
huge}  wide-spread  in  g  holly-tree,  and  lay  there, 
flat  to  the  t  arth,  and  perfectly  motionlees.  Hei 
heart  almost  stayed  is  beating,  and  she  felt  as 
if  she  were  dying,  when  Dame  Sycorax  stopped 
a  few  feet  from  the  hollj-bueh,  and  cried 
aloud  : 

*'•  She  cp.n't  be  far  off  now !  Search  well, 
girls;  cre<;;>  beneath  the  bushes!  A  good 
supper  to-  *•  rlf  breakfast,  and  a 


16 


>    HAtfAR  LOT  ; 


whole  holiday  to  her  who  unkennels  the  de- 
linquent!' 

"Floret  heard  the  crashing  of  the  bushes, 
the  beating  of  the  leaves,  the  trampling  of  the 
grass,  as  the  circling  searchers  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  to  her. 

She  experienced  a  faint,  cold,  deathly  numb- 
ness steal  over  her.  She  exerted  herself 
not  to  let  even  her  breathing  be  heard ;  yet 
she  felt  every  moment  as  if  she  must  shriek 
aloud. 

What  her  sensation  was,  on  suddenly  feel- 
ing a  hand  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  and  on 
raising  her  head,  beholding  a  pair  of  large, 
dark,  glittering  eyes  glaring  into  her  own, 
must  be  imagined  ;  it  is  impossible  to  describe 
it.  But  ae  the  near  approach  of  certain  death 
is  more  terrible  than  death  itself,  so,  perhaps, 
the  imminence  of  discovery  wan  more  frightful 
to  Floret  than  probably  actual  discovery 
would  have  been. 

£n  an  instant  she  recognized  the  school 
fellow  who  had  advised  her  to  yield,  and  im- 
plore for  mercy. 

"Do  not  betray  me!"  she  murmured,  im- 
pulsively and  beseechingly. 

"  I  will  not  P  returned  the  hollow-eyed  girl. 
"  Are  you  going  to  run  away  ?" 

"  I  am !"  muttered  Floret, 

"  I  pray  that  you  may  get  safely  away !" 
she  whispered,  in  the  faintest  tone.  "  I  am  to 
be  taken  away  to-morrow,  thank  God !  Good 
bye  for  ever !" 

A  moment  more  she  crawled  out  from  be- 
neath the  holly-bush.  Sycorax  watched  her  as 
she  rose  up. 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  interrogatively. 

"  She  is  not  here  !"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Aha !"  cried  Sycorax,  placing  her  hand  on 
the  holly  leaves.  "  I  thought  I  heard  you 
muttering," 

$  "  You  did,"  she  returned  composedly.  "  I 
disturbed  a  large  black  snake,  which  glided 
toward  your  feet.  I  thought  you  could  not 
fail  to  see  it." 

"  Yah !"  screeched  Miss  Sycorax,  and  bound- 
ed from  the  spot." 

The  girl  followed  her,  saying : 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  Miss  Sycorax,  you  will 
find  Ida  in  her  room.  She  has  most  likely  got 
there  by  this  time,  and  has  hidden  herself  in  a 
cupboard  or  some  other  secret  place." 

Miss  Sycorax  muttered  something  in  reply, 
but  Floret  did  not  catch  what.  The  voices, 
however,  died  away,  and  the  sounds  soon 
ceased  altogether. 

By  that  she  knew  that  the  searching-party 
had  returned  to  the  house,  and  she  crept  forth 
from  her  lurking  place. 

The  sun  had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon,  and 
the  sky  was  becoming  violet-tinted.  It  was 
very  clear,  and  the  night  promised,  when  the 
moon  rose,  to  be  singularly  bright.  But  she 
had  no  wish  to  remain  in  the  vicinity  of  Uggle- 
barnby  House  until  it  was  broad  moonlight 
She,  therefore,  hurried  along  the  path  she  had 
pointed  out  to  Ida,  and  she  paused  not,  though 
she  panted  much  a&d  felt  greatly  fatigued, 


ntil  she  reached   the  plantation- of  the  black 
fira- 

She  shivered  as  she  cast  her  eyes  into  its 
I  gloomy  depths ;  an  active  imagination  instant- 
ly set  to  work  to  people  them  with  intangible 
forms.  Then,  too,  the  place  was  so  eilent.  No 
human  creature  could  surely  be  hidden  away 
in  any  part  of  it.  Probably  Ida  had  wanted 
strength  to  reach  there — perhaps  had  perished 
on  her  way.  The  thought  struck  her  painfully, 
and  made  her  future  prospects  appear  more 
lonely  and  dreary  than  they  had  yet  seemed 
to  her. 

But  she  made  a  struggle  to  reassure  herself. 
She  placed  the  two  bundles  upon  the  turf,  and 
she  clapped  her  hands  sharply  thrice. 

A  figure  rose  up  almost  at  her  feet,  so  sud- 
denly that  she  screamed  with  fright. 

But  the  next  moment  she  felt  herself  em- 
braced, and  she  heard  Ida's  soft  voice  breathe 
in  her  ear : 

"  Dear,  dear  Edith,  I  am  so  overjoyed  that 
you  have  come  at  last ;  I  have  been  almost 
dead  with  terror  since  I  have  been  here." 

Floret  returned  her  embrace  with  unfeigned 
pleasure.  She  then  hastily  divested  herself  of 
her  supernumerary  cloak,  and  handed  it  to 
Ida,  with  her  hat.  The  latter  quickly  attired 
herself,  seized  one  of  the  bundles,  and  said,  in 
an  anxious  tone,  to  Floret : 

"  Ceme  along,  Edith  ;  let  us  run  until  we 
get  far,  far  away  from  this  hateful  place." 

"  Do  not  agitate  yourself  now,  dear  Ida," 
returned  Floret ;  "  we  are,  for  the  present,  safe. 
You  may  be  sure  that  we  shall  not  be  searched 
for  here.  We  had  better  sit  quietly  down,  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  wait  until  the  moon 
rises  to  light  us  on  our  way.  It  is  easy  to  lose 
ourselves  in  the  succession  of  vistas  which 
form  a  path  every  way  you  look ;  and  if  we 
should  do  so,  we  should  wander  about  till 
morning,  and  perhaps  die  here  of  hunger  and 
fatigue." 

"  How  horrible !"  ejaculated  Ida,  nervously. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,' 'rejoined  Floret.  "When 
I  was  young — very  young,  Ida— I  used  to  be 
almost  constantly  in  the  air,  passing  from 
place  to  place,  and  often  through  such  woods 
as  this.  Then  I  was  taught  how  to  guide  my 
way  by  the  stars,  or  by  the  pathway  of  the 
moon,  if  at  any  time  I  should  happen  to  lose 
myself.  I  have  not  forgotten  those  lessons ; 
so  we  will  rest  ourselves,  calm  our  excited 
spirits,  and  be  prepared  to  move  when  the 
beams  of  the  moon  cast  their  silver  lustre  o 
the  grassy  turf  beneath  the  trees." 

So  they  sat  themselves  down  at  the  base  of  a 
tall  red  pine,  and  entered  into  quiet  converse. 

They  talked  of  the  world  before  them,  and  of 
what  they  should  do  to  live,  and  how  they 
would  live  when  they  obtained  the  means. 
Both  had  an  idea  of  the  struggles  and  the 
trials  they  were  likely  to  have  to  encounter, 
and  they  were  both  prepared  to  face  them 
bravely. 

While  they  were  still  deep  in  earnest  and 
hopeful  conversation,  Floret  perceived  long, 
tremulous  streams  of  crystal  light  pour  slowly 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


,47 


Uiroughthe  interstices  of  the  inwoven  branch- 
es, and  between  the  tall,  clustering  columns 
of  the  tall  pinea,  falling  with  lustrous  radi- 
ance upon  the  still  grass  which  paved  the 
earth,  spreading  softly,  in  various  directions, 
delicate  vails  of  silver  frost. 

She  gazed  upward  at  the  sky,  through  an 
opening  in  the  sombre  vegetation  above  her, 
and  then,  touching  Ida  lightly  on  the  wrist, 
she  rose  up,  and  said : 

"  Ida,  it  is  time." 

Ida  arose  with  such  a  sweet  smile  of  glad- 
ness upon  her  face,  as  it  had  not  seen  for 
years.  Floret  felt  her  heart  leap  at  the  sight. 

"  And  shall  I  ever  show  such  quiet,  deep 
joy  on  my  features?"  she  thought,  with  a 
sigh. 

She  turned  to  Ida,  and  said  : 

"  Look  at  the  heavens,  Ida.  Yonder  is  the 
North  Star,  upon  my  right  hand  ;  behind  me, 
but  moving  toward  the  west,  is  the  moon. 
Observe  the  shadews  of  the  trees,  as  they  fall 
upon  the  grass.  Remember,  that  the  trees 
move  not,  but  the  moon  does  ;  and,  therefore, 
the  shadows  move,  too — they  travel  from  west 
to  north  and  thence  to  the  east.  By  keeping 
the  North  Star  in  sight,  and  by  observing  the 
direction  in  which  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
lie,  we  shall  be  ab'e  to  tell,  as  we  pass  through 
this  plantation,  whether  we  are  deviating  from 
our  path  or  not." 

"I  place  myself  implicitly  under  your 
guidance,  and  whatever  you  direct  me  to  do 
I  wiU  obey,"  replied  Ida ;  "  I  know  that  in 
years  I  am  older  than  you,  but  you  have  more 
strength  of  mind,  more  resolution,  and  more 
persevering  energy  than  I  have." 

Floret  smiled. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  be  nattered,"  she  said,  in 
one  of  her  sweetest  tones  ;  "  but  do  not  con- 
tinue it,  dear  Ida  ;  for  if  you  do,  I  shall,  per- 
haps, become  vain,  and  then  I  shall  prove 
hateful." 

"  Like  Miss  Ate*  ?  Never !"  ejaculated  Ida, 
with  fervor;  then  she  added,  thoughtfully, 
"  It  has  often  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  a  pity 
old  Blixenfinik,  when  he  played  the  part  of 
Jupiter  in  naming  her—she  could  never  have 
been  christened,  I  am  sure  of  that — did  not 
perform  the  remaining  portion  of  the  drama." 

"  Let  me  remember,"  said  Floret :  "  Jupiter, 
I  think,  dragged  his  daughter,  Ate,  from  the 
society  of  the  gods  and  goddesses  by  the  hair 
of  the  head,  banished  her  from  heaven,  and 
sent  her  to  dwell  upon  earth." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Ida,  quickly  ;  "  and  she 
has  taken  up  her  abode  at  Ugglebarney,  where 
she  incites  poor  girls  like  me  to  wickedness. 
O  Edith,  sometimes  when  she  has  been  twitch- 
ing her  nose  up  and  down,  and  blinking  her 
eyes  at  me  as  she  scolded  me,  I  have  looked  at 
her,  and  felt  so  shockingly  wicked.  What  a 
shame  it  was  for  that  pompous,  arrogant  old 
Jupiter  to  send  his  hateful  daughter  down  to 
earth—he  ought  to  have  sent  her  to—" 

Ida  paused  abruptly. 

"  To  a  coal  mine,"  suggested  Floret,  with  a 
•ly  look  at,  h«r. 


"  Yes,"  returned  Ida,  laughing ;  "  supposing 
that  it  was  on  fire,  and  the  combustibles  were 
sulphur  and  pitch.  It  was  wrong  to  put  an 
accent  at  the  end  of  her  name,  and  to  leave  the 
letter  H  from  it ;  it  ought  to  have  led  off  with 
it— she  was  so  identified  with  the  word.  What 
a  many  thin  slice  of  bread  and  butter  the  pro- 
nunciation of  her  detestable  name  has  cost  poor 
Athalie,  who  left  before  you  came.  Whenever 
she  wanted  to  be  spiteful  to  Hiss  Ate,  she 
would  always  place  H  before  her  name,  and 
aspirate  it  vigorously.  Miss  Ate  would  call 
upon  her  to  pronounce  it  properly,  and  repeat 
'  A'te'  a  dozen  times.  But  Athalie  would  start 
off  rapidly,  and  §ay,  scornfully, '  Hate,  Hate, 
Hate,  Hate,  Hate,  Hate',  and  I  used  to  love 
her  so  for  it." 

In  such  pleasant  talk  did  they  beguile  the 
long  night.  Floret  led  the  way.  They  occa- 
sionally rested  themselves,  and  then  rose  up 
and  went  on  again,  until  an  hour  or  so  of  dawn, 
when  they  reseated  themselves  in  a  very  se- 
questered spot,  and  tried  to  talk  to  keep  them- 
selves awake. 

But  exhausted  nature  refused  to  make  farther 
effort ;  and  so,  making  themselves  pillows  of 
their  bundles,  they  reclined  beneath  a  tree, 
folded  in  each  other's  arms.  Ida  laid  her  face 
on  Floret's  breast,  and  Floret  her  soft,  wan 
cheek  on  Ida's  forehead,  and  so  they  both 
glided  off  into  a  deep  slumber. 

The  sun  was  rising  when,  faint  and  weak, 
they  opened  their  eyes.  They  rose  up,  but  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  they  tottered  on,  they 
were  so  faint  for  want  of  food.  At  length,  wel- 
come sight,  a  cottage  presented  itself  before 
them,  and  they  made  their  way  to  it. 

Light-footed,  for  they  seemed  almost  to  tread 
on  air ;  light-headed,  for  they  felt  giddy  and 
afflicted  with  vertigo  ;  exhausted,  because  they 
feared  they  should  fall  each  step  they  took, 
they  reached  the  cottage  only  with  the  great- 
est difficulty. 

A  woman  was  standing  at  the  door.  She 
stared  hard  at  them  as  they  came  up  to  her. 

"  We  want  something  to  eat,"  said  Floret, 
feebly. 

"  We  are  starving,"  exclaimed  Ida. 

"My  Godl"  ejaculated  the  woman,  as  she 
looked  at  their  wan,  pinched  countenances. 

"  We  will  pay  you,"  murmured  Floret. 

The  woman's  eyes  became  moist  and  silent, 
and  her  lips  trembled. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  she  drew  them  gent- 
ly and  tenderly  into  the  cottage. 

Presently  she  murmured : 

"I  have  girls  of  my  own,  they  are  away 
from  me  at  service.  If  they  should  be  like 
you — the  Lord  I  the  Lord  !  children,  you  make 
my  heart  ache." 

A  few  minutes  only,  and  a  basin  of  warm 
bread  and  milk  was  placed  before  them. 

Although  they  yearned  for  it,  and  were 
about  to  commence  upon  it  voraciously,  the 
good  woman  checked  them,  and  caused  them 
to  begin  sparingly  at  first,  that  too  full  a 
meal  should  not  have  a  dangerous  effect  upon 
them. 


KA.GAR  LOT  ; 


They  remained  at  the  cottage  the  whole  of 
that  day.  The  good  woman  would  not  let 
them  leave,  she  said,  until  they  had  at  least 
one  good  day's  food,  and  they  did  have  auoh  a 
one  with  her  as  they  had  not  had  at  Uggle- 
bamby  House  during  the  three  years  wthey 
were  imprisoned  there. 

Floret  gave  the  woman  money  to  buy  them 
some  meat  with,  but  the  good  creature  refused 
to  take  anything  beyond  it  for  the  milk,  bread, 
and  shelter. 

A  bed  was  made  up  for  them  by  her,  for  she 
was  living  in  her  cottage  alone,  and  they  en- 
joyed a  long  night's  rest,  as  well  as  that  which 
they  had  had  during  the  day.  On  the  follow- 
ing morning  they  set  out  upon  their  journey, 
recruited  and  refreshed  beyond  what  they 
could  have  possibly  hoped  for,  and  they  took 
it  as  a  good  omen. 

Floret,  after  a  eareful  meditation,  decided 
that  it  would  be  the  most  prudent  plan  to  walk 
to  London.  The  distance  was  fearful,  but  time 
was  not  an  object,  and  money  was. 

Floret  understood  something  of  the  task,  for 
*he,  when  a  child,  had  walked  many  a  hundred 
miles  with  Daddy  Windy.  She  thought  she 
might  certainly  do  it  now,  when  she  had  such 
an  object  in  view. 

And  so  they  went  on  walking  during  the 
day,  sleeping  at  night  at  pome  cottage  where 
they  could  be  accommodated,  or  in  an  out- 
house, or  even  under  a  haystack,  when  no  other 
place  of  repose  was  at  hand. 

They  made  thus  their  way  into  Nottingham- 
shire, and  one  morning  their  path  lay  through 
a  wood. 

Suddenly  they  came  upon  a  pool  of  clear 
water,  imbedded  in  a  nest  of  trees.  Upon  its 
margin  grew  a  profusion  of  blue,  crimson,  pur- 
ple, and  golden  flowers,  and  upon  its  surface 
lay  broad  Crater-lilies,  reposing  or  flinging  out 
their  shoots  and  bud's  in  various  directions. 

Floret  paused,  and  gazed  wildly  round  her. 
She  knew  the  spot  again,  she  recollected  every 
feature  it  presented. 

She  said  to  Ida  with  deep  emotion : 

"  Let  us  sit  down  here.  I  will  sing  you  a 
song  I  used  to  be  fond  of,  and  it  was  once  of 
much  service  to  me." 

They  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  pool,  and 
then  Floret,  in  a  richer,  deeper,  but  not  either 
sweeter  or  clearer  voice  than  in  childhood^ 
sung  ; 

"Oranges,  sweet  oranges ! 
Pulpy  cheeks  that  peep  through  trees, 
Thecrabb'st  churl  in  all  the  south, 
Would  haidly  let  a  thirsty  mouth, 
Yearn  for  thee,  and  Ions:  to  taste. 
Nor  grant  one  golden  kiss  at  last." 

While  her  soft,  si'.ver-bell  like  tones  were 
yet  quiveriDg  in  the  air,  a  rich,  manly,  though 
youthful  voice,  responded  from  a  short  dis- 
tance. 

It  suBg  a  burden,  thas  : 
"La!  la!    La.  sol,  fa,  mi, 
My  la^y  locked  through  the  orange  tree. 

Floret  caught  !•'*  by  the  wrist. 

"  Some  one  is  coming  this  way,  let  us  hide 
ouralvee,"  she  said,  in  an  under-tone. 


Ida  instantly  obeyed  her,  and  they  dived 
beneath  the  thick  undergrowth  that  skirted 
the  pond,  and  there  crouched  down,  securely 
concealed  in  a  leafy  cover,  but  through  which 
hey  could  gaze  without  being  seen. 

They  were  scarcely  hidden,  when  footsteps 
approached  the  pool.  Almost  immediately, 
two  young  men,  attired  in  sporting  garb,  and 
followed  by  dogs  and  two  keepers,  approached 
the  pool. 

One  of  them  Floret  instantly  recognized  ai 
Lord  Victor.  The  other  she  knew  not — he  was 
young,  tall,  dark,  and  handsome. 

But,  oh !  how  beautiful  in  her  eyes  had  Lent 
Victor  become.  He  was  now  a  man,  with  a 
large,  clear,  dreamy,  and  yet  lustrous  eye,  and 
features  regular  and  delicately  shaped,  enough 
to  make  the  heart  of  any  woman  ache. 

Floret's  heart  beat  violently,  as  she  saw 
him  gazing  anxiously  and  earnestly  about 
him.  Presently  be  said  : 

"  The  voice  sounded  as  if  it  came  from  some 
one  seated  on  this  spot." 

"  One  of  the  young  ladies  from  the  castle,** 
suggested  his  friend.  "  Perhaps  hiding  some- 
where in  sport.  Let  us  unkennel  her,  Vic- 
tor." 

"  No !"  he  returned  hastily  and  thoughtful- 
ly. l'T$o,  it  is  BO  yourfg  lady  from  the  castle, 
but  one  of  the  fairest  and  most  beautiful  little 
fays  imagination  can  conceive,  who  haunts  this 
fairy  pool."  He  raised  his  voice  to  an  un- 
necessary loudness,  as  he  added :  "  She  only 
discloses  her  presence  to  those  who  wish  to 
see  her  as  anxiously  as  I  do,  and  when  I  return 
here  at  sunset,  as  I  shall  do,  and  alone,  I  hope 
from  my  soul  that  she  will  reveal  herself  to 
me." 

His  companion  laughed  lustily. 

'•Upon  my  soul,  Victor,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
as  full  of  romance  as  ever.  Alma  Mater's 
hard  teachings  do  not  crush  it  out  of  you." 

"And  never  will,"  he  rejoined.  "Away 
with  you,  Vaughan,  we  will  beat  the  covers 
yonder,  we  shall  have  excellent  sport  there." 

And  so  they  hurried  away. 

Floret  remained  perfectly  motionless  until 
the  distant  report  of  a  gun  told  her  that  they 
might  quit  their  hiding-place  without  the  risk 
of  discovery.  She  then  crawled  out.  followed 
by  Ida. 

The  latter  was  about  to  speak  to  her,  but  to 
her  surprise  she  saw  silent  tears  coursing  each 
other  down  her  c'leeks,  and  she  heard  her 
mutter,  as  she  glanced  scornfully  at  her  mean 
attire : 

"  Always  a  beggar!" 

Before  Ida  could  express  the  surprise  she 
felt,  Floret  seized  her  by  the  hand,  and  said, 
earnestly : 

**  Let  us  fly  from  this  place,  Ida — far,  fax 
from  it." 

An^  they  turned  to  strike  into  the  depths  of 
the  wood;  but  they,  to  their  horror  and 
amazement,  found  themselves  confronted  by  a 
scraggy,  fierce-lookirg  old  gipsy,  who  was 
glarirfg  upon  Floret  with  the  aspect  of  a  ma- 
niac. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL.' 


"  I  know'd  the  woice,"  he  exclaimed,  in 
harsh  and  guttural  tones.  "I  know'd  the 
woico  ;  th«  sounds  on  it  tingled  in  my  old 
cirs  like  the  fairy  moosic  which  comes  out  o' 
silver  'iacynth  bells.  Sixteen  bunches  a  pen 
nee,  sweet  lawender  !  I'm  right  this  'ere  time 
—  sixteen  bunches  a  pennee  !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

.*'  And  she  is  now  his  cuptive—  thrown 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone  ; 
His  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
All  infidels—  all  enemies  ! 
What  was  the  daring  hop«  that  thea, 
Cross'd  her  like  lightning,  as  again, 
"With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent, 

She  darted  through  the  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  intent, 

That  ev'n  the  Bternest  warrior  bow'd. 
Abash'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught, 
As  if  he  gue&s'd  whose  form  they  sought  ! 
But  no—  she  sees  him  not. 
—THE 


As  the  harsh  sounds  of  Daddy  "Windy's 
Toice  grated  disagreeably  in  the  ears  of  Ida, 
Floret  stood  speechless,  transfixed  with  horror. 

The  incidents  of  the  past  three  years,  mo- 
notonous, long  drawn  out,  and  yet,  terrible  as 
they  were,  vanished  from  her  memory  as 
though  they  had  never  happened.  She  seemed 
to  be  still  on  the  green  and  flower-decked  hill 
at  Reigate,  gathering  the  wild  blossoms  and 
trembling  grasses  which  grew  there,  disturbed 
only  at  that  moment  in  her  pleasant  occupation 
by  the  unexpected  and  unwelcome  obtrusion 
of  the  Daddy's  form  upon  her  unterrified  eyes. 
:  Again  (  thoughts,  agonizing  and  depressing, 
rushed  through  her  mind,  attended  by  some  of 
the  most  humiliating  memories  of  "the  past. 
They  pointed  to  an  abasing  and  degrading  fu- 
ture ;  they  suggested  a  vagrant,  wandering 
life  ;  they  seemed  to  trample  out  all  latent,  but 
cherished,  hopes  of  a  brilliant  termination  to  a 
path  thronged  with  trials  and  troubles,  and  to 
foretell  shame,  humiliation,  misery,  and  death. 

But  that  she  was  paralyzed  with  horror,  she 
would  have  fled,  shrieking  —  fled  in  one  direc- 
tion where  she  had  an  instinctive  conviction 
that  succor  and  protection  would  be  extended 
to  her. 

But  she  was  held  back,  not  alone  by  that 
strange  paralyzing  fright,  which  had  rendered 
her  limbs  powerless,  but  by  a  distressing  im- 
pression that  the  Daddy  had  some  legal,  some 
rightful,  claim  to  compel  her  to  accept  his 
guardianship,  and  to  follow  his  fortunes,  until 
she  reached  an  age  when  the  law  cave  to  her 
the  power  ef  acting  for  herself. 

With  this  conceit  pressing  upon  her  brain 
she  perceived  that,  were  she  to  flee  from  him 
now,  and  beseech  the  protection  of  one  who 
Ishe  felt  would  instantly  afford  it,  she  should. 
perhaps,  only  succeed  "in  unfolding  a  series  of 
circumstances  with  which  her  young  life  had 
been  connected  to  him  from  whom  she  was 
anxious  to  conceal  them,  and  this  without 
really  effecting  her  wished-  for  object. 

The  question  whether  it  was  prudent  for  her 
to  remain  or  to  fly  was  settled  by  the  Daddy, 
who,  while  he  uttered  his  curious  nasal  chant, 


49 

clutched 'at  her  dress  and  mantle  with  both 
hands,  so  that,  had  she  attempted  to  escape 
from  him,  he  would  have  pulled  her  back  with 
a  eavage  strength  and  ferocity  with  which  she 
would  have  been  unable  to  struggle  succ  ese 
fully.  i. 

Tne  considerations  which  appeared  to  blister ' 
the  brain  of  Floret,  as  they  rushed  through  it, 
did  not  influence  Ida. 

She  perceived  the  grinning,  saffron-hued, ; 
haggard  visage  of  the  Daddy  lighted  up  by 
the  flashing  glitter  of  his  delirious  eyes  with 
an  overwhelming,  suffocating  terror.  She  saw 
him  fasjten  his  talon- like  claws  upon  the  frail 
dress  of  Floret,  and  she  heard  a  screech  of  ex- 
ultation, such  as  a  famished  vulture  would 
give  on  discovering  the  unexpected  carcass  of 
a  dead  lamb,  burst  from  his  lips,  and  then  her 
tongue,  which  had  been  chained  by  fright,  was 
loosened. 

She  sent  forth  a  long,  wild,  piercing  scream, 
which  she  followed  with  a  dozen  others,  all 
given  with  extreme  rapidity,  and  with  a  shrill- 
ness which  not  only  carrfed  them  above  all 
other  sounds,  but  which  caused  all  the  hollows 
and  the  avenues  of  the  old  wood  to  catch  them 
up,  and  re-echo  them  many  more  times  than 
they  were  uttered. 

Startled  herself  by  the  abrupt  and  piercing 
loudnees  of  her  voice,  as  it  rang  through  the 
quiet  air,  she  paused  breathlessly,  and  stood 
motionless. 

The  Daddy,  however,  did  not  permit  the 
silence  to  continue,  for  he  pressed  his  teeth 
upon  his  nether  lip,  and  blew  between  them  a 
sharp  whistle  having  a  peculiar  cadence. 

His  signal,  for  such  it  was,  was  instantly  fol- 
lowed by  a  loud  halloo  from  a  distant  part  of 
the  wood,  the  firing  of  a  gun,  and  the  having 
of  some  dogs. 

Ida  hearing  them,  sprang  excitedly  upon 
the  Daddy,  and  fastened  her  hands  on  his  col- 
lar. She  endeavored  to  drag  him  from  Floret. 

"  Quit  your  hold  of  my  companion ! '  she 
cried ;  "  she  has  no  money  to  give  you — we 
are  both  poor !  Take  your  wicked  hands  from 
her,  or  you  shall  be  put  in  prison,  you  fright- 
ful old  man !  Let  go  your  hold !" 

The  Daddy  turned  his  grinning  face  to  hers. 
He  felt,  in  a  double  sense,  that  ehe  had  no  pow- 
er to  move  him. 

"  When  I  lets  go  my  'old  on  her,  my  vite 
dafiydowndilly,"  he  exclaimed,  between  his 
gnashing  teetb,  "I  lets  go  my  'art  strings  vith 
her.  No!1  no!  She's  mine — she's  mine!  I 
sticks  to  her  now  vonce  for  all !  Te-viee  I've 
been  robbed  on  her— te- vice— an'  both  times 
byvomen!  The-rice  it  ain't  to  be  done  with- 
out murder— murder,  my  own  Vite  Rose! 
Murder,  my  silver  daisy  !  Your  murder,  my 
Vite  Rose,  if  any  von  tries  to  svoop  off  vith 
you,  or  you  'empts  to  play  the  double  on  poor 
old  Daddy!" 

"Helpf"  screamed  Ida;  "help!  help! 
help!" 

"  Hilloah !  hoy  !"  responded  a  youthful  Toic« 
from  the  same  part  of  the  wood  from  whence 
the  previous  shout  had  proceeded. 


IIAGAR  LOT  ; 


The  about  was  again  accompanied  by  the 
baying  of  dogs. 

i     "Help!— help!'  again  shrieked  Ida,  pull- 
ing with  all  her  strength  at  the  Daddy's  col- 

l*rj 

|  Floret,  white  as  a  ghost,  stood  seemingly 
helpless  and  powerless  to  move. 
(  «« Jest  put  a  muffler  on  this  pipin'  finch !" 
abruptly  exclaimed  the  Daddy,  addressing 
some  cne  apparently  in  the  rear  cf  Ida.  He 
did  not  himself  attempt  to  remove  her  hands 
from  his  collar,  but  kept  his  grip  firmly  upon 
the  dress  of  Floret. 

\  Ida  suddenly  felt  a  pair  of  hard,  horny  hands 
placed  over  her  mouth,  and  her  neck  was  im- 
mediately jerked  backward  with  such  a  vio- 
lence that  she  wai  compelled  to  withdraw  her 
hands  from  the  Daddy's  collar. 
|  The  next  moment  she  found  herself  strug- 
gling in  the  arms  of  a  strong  man,  who,  having 
released  for  an  instant  her  mouth  from  his  euf  • 
focating  pressure,  dexterously  passed  a  eilk 
handkerchief  about  her  lips,  and  fastened  it  be- 
hind her  head.  It  served  the  purpose  of  a  gag, 
Wen  more  effectually  than  his  hands ;  for 
while  it  deadened  every  sound  which  she  at- 
tempted to  make,  it  enabled  her  to  breathe. 
Its  odor,  however,  rather  damaged  its  proper- 
ties as  a  revivifying  respirator,  for  it  seemed 
compounded  of  stale,  putrescent  patchouli  and 
the  oldest  and  the  deadest  tobacco  ash.  Un- 
der ordinary  circumstances,  this  unsavory  scent 
was  enougli  to  have  stifled  her,  or  an  elephant ; 
but  she  was  excited,  and  was  frantically  desir- 
ous to  live  and  be  set  free  from  the  ruffian  who 
had  seized  her. 

Floret,  as  Ida  was  seized,  saw  a  dozen  forms 
appear  from  beneath  the  undergrowth,  and 
from  leafy  hollows,  which  did  not  appear  to 
have  contained  a  living  creature.  She  per- 
ceived that  the  Daddy  was  accompanied  by  a 
tribe  of  his  people,  who  were  surrounding  them, 
and  she  knew  that  escape,  for  the  present,  was 
hopeless. 

A  raw-boned,  mahogany- visaged  womao, 
wearing  a  bright  amber  handkerchief  passed 
over  her  head  and  pinned  beneath  her  chin, 
pushed  some  bushes  aside,  and  moved  up  to 
the  old  man,  who  ctill  kept  the  dress  of  Floret 
tightly  in  his  grasp. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and, 
in  a  husky  voice,  said  : 

"  What  is  it,  old  man-of- all  ?" 

Floret  glanced  at  her :  it  was  not  tho  gran- 
nata. 

"The  Vite  Ease,  my  mulberry  bud — the 
Vite  Rose !"  he  ejaculated,  in  a  tone  of  tri- 
umph. 

The  woman  responded  Trith  an  exulting 
cackle. 

The  Daddy  said  to  one  of  the  gipsies,  who 
were  all  looking  on  at  the  two  girls  and  the  old 
man  with  wondering  eyes : 

"  You  'ad  better  'ark  forward,  Lurcher,  right 
avay  at  vonce.  Draw  them  ere  parter-idges 
vich  you've  got  in  your'ands  over  the  grass  an' 
the  bushes  the  werry  percise  vay  as  ve  isn't 
goin'.  Bcoos  ve  shall  'ave  here  in  two-twos  a 


couple  of  young  lords  and  a  couple  o'old 
keepers,  who  viJl  be  locking  ater  this  liUle 
brace  o'  game  'ere  in  muslin.  I  ain't  p*rtik]ar 
about  takin'  that  von  you  'ave  'old  on,  Mi- 
cah,"  he  added  ;  "  but  ehe  might  blow  on  na 
jest  at  first,  eo  ve'll  give  her  forty-eight  'ours 
o'  gipsy  life,  jest  to — " 

•'  IliJJioh  I  Hoy  !  hoy !"  cried  some  voices, 
lustily. 

The  sounds  were  much  nearer  than  before. 

Floret  started.  She  recognized  the  voice  of 
the  young  Lord  Victor — she  knewdts  intona- 
tion perfectly.  She  was  about  to  scream  vio- 
lently for  aid,  but  she  cast  her  eyes  at  her 
poor,  worn,  shabby  garments,  and,  with  a  sub- 
dued groan  embitter  pain,  she  remained  silent. 

She  was  in  the  Daddy's  power  now,  but  she 
believed  that  ehe  would  not  always  be.  She 
had  hopes  that  Li  per  Leper  would  not  fail  her, 
and  that  when  she  escaped  from  the  clutches 
of  the  terrible  old  gipsy,  who  now  held  her 
fast,  she  should  find  some  means  to  dress  more 
becomingly,  and  be  then  enabled  to  meet 
Lord  Victor  in  such  attire  that,  at  least,  he 
would  not  say  to  himself,  as  he  gazed  upon 
her: 

"  She  is  a  beggar !" 

How  many  a  poor  girl  has,  alas !  been  ruined 
by  such  a  reflection  as  this ! 

"Hillioh!"  grunted  the  Daddy.  "Werry 
pooty ;  that  woo'hallo  is  werry  pooty ;  but 
they'll  find  the  fox  stole  avay,  I  should  say. 
Avay,  every  von  on  you,  inter  brake  and 
copse  ;  inter  holler  an'  dell ;  to  earth  yith 
you  ;  I'll  take  care  on  my  Vite  Rose — I'll  take 
care  on  her.  An'  you,  Micah,  follow  me  vith 
that  ere  vite  pigeon,  vich  is  a  flutterin'  in  your 
arms.  Avay  vifch  you,  the  grass  is  'ot,  an'  our 
shoes,  at  this  ere  partikler  minnit,  ain't  BO 
werry  good.  Avay !" 

As  he  concluded,  the  gipsies,  of  whom  there 
were  at  least  twenty,  glided  off  silently  in  vari- 
oas  directions. 

The  one  who  bore  the  more  suggestive  than 
euphonious  name  of  Lurcher  fulfilled  the  in- 
structions given  him  by  the  Daddy,  by  draw- 
ing Hie  feathered  bodies  of  a  brace  of  enared 
partridges  along  the  tall  grass,  brushing  with 
them,  too,  the  tall,  graceful,  waving  ferns,  and 
the  thorny,  thickly- clustered,  blooming  gorse. 

As  they  disappeared,  the  Daddy  shifted, 
with  great  rapidity,  one  hand  from  Floret's 
cloak,  and  passed  it  round  her  waist. 

She  shrank  from  him,  but  he  gripped  her 
tightly,  and,  bending  his  wrinkled  face  to- 
ward hers,  he  placed  his  black  lips  close  to 
her  ear,  and  whispered,  in  what  he  intended  to 
be  a  tender  tone,  but  which  had  a  whining, 
fawning  character : 

"  My  Vite  Rose — my  own  little  booty — my 
pooty  Floret — don't  shrink  avay  from  your 
poor  old  Daddy.  You  knows  he's  werry  foicd 
on  you,  »n'  he  von't  'arm  you.  Perk  up  your 
pooty  beak,  an'  chirrup,  for  there  ain't  no 
Grannem  to  wex  you  now,  an'  Daddy  '11  make 
a  queveen  on  you.  Come  along  vith  me,  Vite 
Rose  ;  it  ain't  o'  no  use  a  fightin'  with  thorns ; 
you'll  get  the  vust  o'  that,  jou  knows;  all 


OR,  TfiE 


OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


your  poor  little  fingers  '11  bleed,  an*  yon  vill 
still  be  stuck  fast ;  BO  be  cheerful  and  gay  as  a 
lark,  aa  coino  villingly  vith  me,  for  you  must 
come — you  must  come — you  must — you  must. 
Cos'  I've  swored  to  lose  my  life,  an'  to  take 
yourn— to  take  yourn,  Floret — afore  ve  shall 
betored  asunder  again— until —  But  never 
mind,  vite  dove  ;  don't  shrink  an'  tremble  so  ; 
Daddy  loves  'is  silver  snowdrop ;  lie  loves  the 
werry  star-eyed  daisies,  the  goolden  buttercup, 
the  crystal  chiakveed,  the  amper-mouthed 
grund'sel,  the  crimson-spotted  sorrel,  the 
peachy  vild  anemomy,  the  tiny  tr'foil,  an'  the 
shivering  dcddle-grass  upon  vich  her  pooty 
little  foot  trips  over,  and  never  scrunches ;  he 
loves  the  soft  summer  vind  vich  blows  vith 
spicy  scent  upon  her  little  pinky  cheek — not 
so  werry  pinky  now,  but  it  shall  be  ;  he  lovea 
the  little  birds  as  pipes  to  her ;  the  leaves 
upon  the  trees,  vich  flutters  as  if  they  had  the 
spasms  as  they  chants  to  her ;  be  loves  every- 
thin'  a  round  her,  a- bout  her,  a-bove  her,  be- 
neath her,  too  veil — too  veil — to  'urt  a  goolden 
thread  cf  her  silk-vorm  'air.  So,  come  vith 
its  fond  oU  Daddy— come— come — come !'' 

All  this  -while  the  Daddy,  with,  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  a  gentle  force,  but  still  a  force, 
urged  her  along.  Ida,  she  perceived,  had  been 
already  carried  away,  and  she  knew  the  na- 
ture of  the  people  in  whose  power  she  was  at 
that  moment  too  well  to,  hope  to  gain  any- 
'thing  by  struggling  with  her  captor.  She  was 
sufficiently  well  acquainted,  too,  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  Daddy  to  know  that,  if  she  at- 
tempted to  shriek  and  struggle,  that  he  would 
gag  her,  muffle  her  eyes,  and  carry  her  away 
at  every  risk  of  danger  and  injury  to  her,  not- 
withstanding that  he  spoke  to  her  with  such  a 
velrot  tongue. 

So  she  went  with  him,  not  willingly,  but 
with  a  reluctant  dragging  step,  which  com- 
pelled him  to  propel  her  forward. 

It  was  evident  that  he  knew  every  inlet  and 
outlet  of  the  wood,  for  he  traversed  a  devious 
path,  unworn  by  human  foot.  Now  between 
gorse  bushes,  and  thick,  matted,  intertwined 
undergrowth  ;  and,  anon,  between  small  lanes, 
formed  by  young  saplings  and  trees  of  older 
growth. 

And  he  paused  not,  during  at  least  half  an 
hour's  hurrying,  until  they  arrived  at  a  glade 
of  small  dimensions^hickly  screened  by  close- 
ly-clustering trees,  Between  the  stems  of  which 
clambered  up  wild  masses  of  hawthorn,  inter- 
laced with  the  dog-roee,  and  decorated  and 
trimmed,  as  it  were,  with  the  blackberry  and 
other  brambles,  which  were  dense  enough  to 
hide  from  the  eyes  of  all  without  those  who 
reclined  upon  the  lush  grass  within. 

Here  the  whole  of  the  tribe  were  assembledd 
two  tents  were  pitched  upon  the  grass,  an; 
preparations  were  being  made  to  kindle  a  fire 
for  the  cooking  of  those  provisions,  which 
eome  of  the  members  of  the  community  had 
collected  during  their  morning  rambles,  with- 
out being  the  recipients  of  philanthropic  gifts. 

In  a  Htuall  heap  in  a  corner  were  fresh-pull- 
ed potatoes  and  very  young  carrots ;  there 


were  some  plucked  pullets  and  one  goose, 
whose  feathers  had  been  removed  in  haste  and 
without  care  ;  there  were  also  a  brace  of  par- 
tridges and  one  pheasant.  Some  new-laid 
eggs,  surreptitiously  obtained  from  a  nest  in  a 
farm-yard,  peeped  out  from  among  the  vege- 
tables, and  by  their  side  were  three  loaves  of 
new  white,  fancy  bread,  which  one  of  the  men 
had  "  found"  in  a  baker's  basket,  that  stood 
"  neglected  and  alone",  outside  the  <2oor  of  a 
villa.  The  frisky  young  baker  had  placed  it 
where  the  gipsy  had  discovered  it,  while  he 
eerved  his  customer.  He  was.  at  the  moment 
the  gipsy  "  made  a  point"  at  the  forsaken ' 
basket,  vowing  to  the  pretty  housemaid,  that  j 
she  really  had  the  sweetest  and  yet  the  cruel- 
lest of  "  hies",  and  a  complexion  which  made 
the  best  white  wheaten  flour,  at  tenpence  a 
quartern,  look  like  oatmeal ;  and  she  was 
chuckling  and  assuring  him,  as  she  gave  his 
paste-colored  chin  a  fillip,  that  he  was  a 
saucy  and  awdacioua  willen,  and  was  a  leetle 
too  full  of  his  gammon. 

And  the  price  of  that  flirt  was  the  three 
quartern  loaves  aforesaid. 

There  wore  several  other  articles  collected 
there,  all  of  usefulness  and  necessity,  and  the? 
inference  to  be  drawn  from  the  gathering,  ob-*! 
tained  without  incurring  any  other  obligation^ 
than  the  law  might  impose,  was,  that  the  triba ! 
intended  remaining   where  they  had  pitched 
their  tents  for  the  remainder  \>f  that  day  and 
night,  at  least. 

Floret  knew  this  by  what  she  observed,  and 
she  hoped  that  this  circumstance  would  afford 
her  an  opportunity  of  escaping  once  more  from 
the  Daddy's  clutches.  She  had  not,  for  a 
moment,  despaired  of  help  and  aid,  but  she 
did  not  et  present  look  for  it,  nor  did  she  wish 
it  to  come  from  Lord  Victor. 

She  was  prepared  to  undergo,  for  a  time, 
any  trial,  however  severe,  rather  than  appear 
1  before  him  in  forlorn    and  poverty-stricken 
apparel. 

No,  she  cast  her  eyes  anxiously  over  every 
gipsy  face  which  was  turned  toward  her  with 
a  grave — not  lowering — but  earnest,  curious 
expression. 

The  name  of  the  "White  Rose  was  known  to 
them  as  well  as  that  of  the  greatest  of  their 
people,  to  whom  a  tradition  was  attached  ;  and 
they  wondered,  although  they  spoke  not,  what 
the^  Daddy,  now  that  he  had  it  in  his  pos- 
session, would  do  with  his  locg-lost,  deeply- 
grieved  floweret. 

Floret  met  their  settled  stare  with  a  firm 
but  searching  look,  but  her  gaze  rested  upon 
the  last  nut-brown  visage  upon  which  her- 
eyes  turned  with  an  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

She  had  hoped  to  see  the  countenance  of 
Li  per  Leper  among  those  assembled,  but  he 
was  not  there. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  piercing  shriek  whi«h 
had  been  so  abruptly  and  so  shrilly  uttered  bj 
Ida,  was  heard  plainly,  both  by  Lord  Yiotor 
and  his  companion,  Hyde  Vaughan. 

For  an  instant  they  were  startled  by  it,  but 


52 


HAGAR  LOT  j 


Lord  Victor  impulsively  placed  his  Hand  to 
his  mouth,  and  responded  by  a  loud  about ;  be 
followed  it  by  the  discharge  of  his  fowling- 
piece,  and  the  pointed  who  were  with  him 
broke  into  a  loud  buying. 

"What  the  devil  is  the  meaning  of  that 
cry?" exclaimed  Hyde  Yaughan,  with  a  look 
of  surprise,  as  much  perhaps  at  Lord  Victor's 
demonstration  as  at  the  scream  itself.  "  Was 
it  a  woman's  voice?" 

'  "  A  girl's  voice,"  responded  Victor,  quickly, 
with  a  frown  on  his  brow.  "  Come  along, 
Vaughan.  I  promise  one  ruffian,  at  least,  a 
good  trouncing." 

As  the  words  escaped  his  lips,  he  started 
forward  at  a  swift  pace  in  the  direction  from 
whence  the  shriek  seemed  to  proceed. 

"  Hallo  1  where  are  you  going,  Victor  ?" 
cried  Hyde  Naughsn. 

"  What  a  stupid  question  I"  returned  Victor, 
impatiently.  <;Come  on,  Vaughan!  that  was 
ft  girl's  shriek  of  fright  and  horror,  or  I  am  no 
no  judge  of  the  intonation  of  the  human  voice ! 
Follow  on,  Chariton  and  Bates,  with  the  dogs," 
he  added,  addressing  thfl  two  keepers. 

"Why,  you  don't  meen  to  say  that  some 
rustic  lout  is  misbeh^ying  himself  toward  an 
unprotected  girl,"  cn'cd  Hyde,  shouldering  his 
gun,  and  taking  his  place  at  the  side  of  Victor, 
who  was  going  at  the  "  double". 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  returned  Victor. 
"I  can  tell  you  a  strange  etory about  the  pool, 
near  to  which  wl  heard  that  pretty  song  about 
the  oranges." 

"And  did  not  sec  the  singer?"  suggested 
Hyde. 

"Precisely,"  responded  Victor.  "  I'll  tell  it 
you  when  we  have  leisure.  It  is  a  curious 
affair." 

4<  A  fairy  pool,  of  course,"  remarked  Hyde, 
beginning  to  pant. 

"  I  have  long  since,  in  my  own  mind,  called 
it  by  that  name,"  responded  Victor ;  "  for  the 
strangest — " 

"Help!  help !"  shrieked  from  a  distance  an 
agonized  voice,  with  yet  shriller  and  more 
earnest  tones  than  before. 

Again  Victor  responded  by  a  loud  ehout, 
and  brought  his  thumb  and  finger  to  the  lock 
and  trigger  of  his  gun. 

Both  his  dogs  barked  loudly,  and  Hyde 
harked  them  forward.  They  bent  their  noses 
to  the  ground,  and  ran  sniffing  in  a  zigzag  di- 
rection. 

Victor  did  not  take  heed  of  the  animals,  but 
kept  on  in  the  direction  pf  the  pool. 

Another  wild,  despairing  cry  for  help  arose ; 
he  again  responded,  and,  with  knitted  brows 
and  set  teeth,  increased  his  pace. 

They  reached  the  pool  at  a  run  ;  but  it  Tras, 
to  the  mortification  of  Lord  Victor,  unten- 
anted. 

He  halloed,  but  the  wood  only  echoed  his 
voice. 

They  all  proceeded  to  beat  about  the  bush- 
es, but  with  no  success.  The  dogs  ran  nosing 
round,  and  presently  disappeared. 

«,'  Bruno  has  etruck  a  scent,"  exclaimed  the 


keeper  (Bates),  tombing  Ms  hat  to  Lord  Vic- 
tor ;  "  Shall  we  follow  on,  my  Lord  2" 

"  Ay,  certai&ly ;  the  dog's  sagacity  may  lead 
us  to  the  partita  of  whom  we  are  in  search," 
h«  replied,  hastily  ;  and,  as  he  spoke,  be  forced 
his  way  through  some  undergrowth  which 
grew  thick Jy  about  the  spot  where  the  dogi 
Had  disappeared. 

He  was  closely  followed  by  Hjde  Vaughan 
and  the  two  keepers. 

^The  dogs,  which  had  been  previously  run- 
ning to  and  fro  a  little  wildly,  now  both  went 
with  a  low  murmur  steadily  in  one  direction. 

"They  have  picked  up  a  ecent,  my  lord,  for 
certain,"  exclaimed  the  kee per,  Chariton;  "but 
some  birds  have  been  in  cover  somewhere 
hereaway.  It's  not  the  game  we  are  in  search, 
of,  my  lord." 

"  Very  likely  not — very  probably  not,"  re- 
turned Victor,  pausing  for  a  moment. 

Then  he  placed  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and 
cried,  lustily: 

"Hillioh!" 

The  cry  was  taken  up  at  a  not  very  distant 
part  of  the  wood,  and  repeated. 

They  all  at  full  speed  dashed  toward  the 
spot  whence  the  sound  came. 

It  was  not  a  woman's  cry  which  had  echoed 
Victor's  call,  but  still  it  was  a  response,  and 
they  made  toward  the  individual  who  had  tit- 
tered it,  hoping  to  obtain  from  him  some  ex- 
planation of  tke  singular  cries  they  had  heard. 

Victor  called  again,  and  again  his  call  waa 
replied  to. 

A  minute  more  and  they  entered  a  glade, 
and  saw,  coolly  leaning  against  a  tree,  a  sturdy 
young  fellow,  whittling  with  a  pocket-knife  a 
hazel  stick. 

It  waa  the  rustic  from  whom  Lord  Victor 
had  rescued  Floret— the  same  who  had  much 
annoyed,  and  once  insulted,  Charlton's  daugh- 
ter. 

His  luck  was  unquestionably  at  ^this  period 
of  his  existence  out  at  elbows,  for  lenot  only 
turned  up  in  their  path  at  a  moment  when,  in 
their  estimation,  his  worth  was  at  a  very  low 
ebb,  but  he  grinned  at  them  with  evident  feel- 
ings of  exquisite  enjoyment,  having,  us  he  con- 
sidered, made  fools  cf  the  whole  party. 

And  his  "  ragged  luck"  unwisely  urged  him 
to  be  saucy. 

The  eight  of  his  wide  mouth,  lined  within 
by  two  tiers  of  well- developed  but  not  finely- 
formed  teeth,  extended  in  an  unequivocally  de- 
risive laugh,  caused  the  blood  of  Lord  Vietor 
to  boil  in  his  veins. 

He  ran  up,  and  said  to  him,  fiercely: 

"  Was  it  you  who  halloed  j  USB  now,  in  reply 
to  roy  call?" 

"  Wor't  yeou  who  called  'oot  just  now  ?''  in- 
quired the  fellow,  without  looking  up,  and 
continuing  to  whittle  bis  hazel  stick. 

**  It  was !"  returned  Lord  Victor,  sharply. 

"Ecod,  then  twur  I,  too!"  he  responded, 
with  a  grin. 

Why  did  you  call  out  in  answer  to  me  f, 
asked  Lord  Victor,  bis  anger  rising  rapidly  up, 
to  the  boiling  poini , 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


"  Eh !  why  for  did  yeou  call  'oot  to  me  I"  he 
replied,  keeping  up  his  grin. 
,    Charlton  eialed  up  to  him,  and  said  : 

"  Y  ou  ugly  cub,  don't  'ee  know  who  you  be 
Bpeakm'too?" 

The  fellow  looked  up  at  him  and  grinned. 

"  Ees,"  he  returned,  laconically. 

"You  ill-mannered  calf!"  cried  Hyde 
Vaughan,  indignantly.  "  Why  don't  you  pay 
proper  respect  to — " 

"  Let  him  alone,  Vaughan,"  interposed  Lord 
Victor  ;  "I'll  teach  him  better  manners  pres- 
ently." 

"  Will  'ee !"  exclaimed  the  fellow, insolently ; 
"will'ee — ha!  ha!  Look'ee,my  feythervarms 
a  hoon'dred  y acres,  an  I  bean't  BO  Vagram— I 
beant.  And  you  bean't  my  jneaeter,  Dor  for 
that,  .my  Lord  Marquis  neither,  for  I  ha'  left  his 
sarvice.  Nor  more  be  yeou  my  measter,"  he 
added,  with  an  impertinent  acowl  at  Hy<?e 
Vaughan,  which,  but  for  Lord  Victor,  he  would 
have  resented.  "  An'  I  bean't  agoin'  to  touch 
my  billycock,  nor  boo  to  every  vool  I  meets  as 
grants  me  too.  Theerei" 

Charlton,  the  gamekeeper,  licked  hia  lips, 
and  went  ihrougn  the  procees  of  an  imaginary 
mastication  of  the  words  which  the, uncouth 
rustic  uttered,  and  he  drew  carefully  through 
hiS'hand  the  stout  thong  of  the  dog-whip  which 
he  carried. 

Lord  Victor,  withnrich  difficulty,  preserved 
a  dignified  and  haughty  demeanor  while  the 
fellow  was  epeakmg ;  he  bit  his  nether  lip  for 
a  moment,  and  then  eaid : 

14  Tell  me,  did  you  hear  a  young  girl  scream 
a  few  minute*  back?" 

"Ay,  I  did,"  he  answered,  with  the  same 
vacant  laugh ;  "  did  yeou  ?" 

"  I  am  here  to  know  the  cause  of  that  un- 
happy cry,"  replied  Lord  Victor.  "  Do  you 
know  what  it  .was?" 

"  Loike  enough  I  do,"  he  returned,  vigorous- 
ly cutting  a  piece  off  the  top  of  his  stick,  and 
slicing  with  it  a  not  inconsiderable  portion  of 
the  knuckle  of  his  thumb. 

This. circumstance  induced  him  to  drop  his 
stick,  and  leave  cff  whittling.  As  his  thumb 
Wed  fiercely,  he  put  away  his  knife,  and  insert- 
ed his  {deeding,  dirty  digit  into  his  capacious 
mouth. 

7  *  What  was  the  cause  of  that  young  girl's 
scream  ?"  repeated  Lord  Victor,  impatiently, 
as  he  drew  up  close  to  the  rustic. 
i  He  was  about  to  give  a  most  insulting  an- 
swer, but  he  was  checked  by  the  glitter  of  Lord 
Victor's  eye — there  was  something  dangerous 
in  it — so  he  rejoined,  doggedly  : 

"  Gigfies  got  'old  o'  two  girls,  an'  they've 
carr'ed  them  off  into  wood." 

"Did  you  see  them?"  inquired  Lord  Victor, 
sharply. 

;    The  rustic  nodded  his  head  sulkily. 
f    "  Did  you  not  interfere  to  prevent  the  gip- 
sies carrying  cff  the  two  girls  of  whom  you 
speak?"    He  grinned  impudently. 
;     "Not  1 1"  he  answered. 
$  "Nor  gave  any  alarm?"  continued  Lord 
.Victor,  fiercely. 


II  Noa!"  shouted  the  rustic,  in  a  a  rage,  for 
his. thumb  had  begun  to  smart  and  tbrob  fari- 
ously,  and  his  juouth  was  full  of  blood. 

"Which  way  did  they  take?"  asked  Lord 
Victor,  rapidly  and  eagerly. 

'•Go  to  Oold  Nick!"  cried  the  rusticren- 
ragedly.  "  Sha'n't  teli'ee  —  foind  oot  for 
'eeaelfP 

"  You  blackguard !  a  sound  horse-whipping 
would  seriously  improve  your  complaint!" 
cried  Hyde  Vaughn,  angrily. 

The  rustic  perked  up  his  face,  and  raised  his 
clenched  fist. 

II 1  should  like  to  Eee  one  as  'ood  try  to 
cfo't!"  he  cried,  with  a  taunting  grin.    "I 
should  varry  much  like  to  see  'un !" 

"You  scoundrel,  you  shall  be  favored  with 
that  gratification !"  exclaimed  Lord  Victor, 
his  face  crimson  with  rage. 

As  he  epoke,  he  snatched  the  dog-whip  from 
the  hand  of  Charlton,  and,  seizing  the  rustic 
by  the  neck  piece,  he  lashed  him  most  vigor- 
ously. The  fellow  leaped,  and  jelkd,  and 
roared,  and  begged  for  mercy. 

««Lefc  I  goo — let  I  goo,  measter!  Oo!  I 
beggee  par-don!  Yah— yah!  I  beggee — 
pardon !  Yah !  Marcy — marcy !  Let  T  go- 
o  o  o-o !  I'll  go  on  bended  knees  to  'ee — let  I 
goo!  Oo!  dooee — doee !  let  I  goo  I" 

When  his  arm  ached  with  its  active  labor, 
Lord  Victor  released  hia  hold  of  the  fellow, 
and  he  bounded  away  like  a  deer,  without  say- 
ing a  threatening  word  when  he  found  himself 
at  liberty,  or  even  looking  back. 

Lord  Victor  drew 'breath,  and  muttered : 

"That  debt  has  been  standing  more  than 
three  years— I  am  glad  I  have  paid  it !" 

"  Paid  it  with  principal  and  interest  in  full !" 
exclaimed  Hyde  Vaughan,  who  had  been 
laughing  until  his  Bides  ached,  at  the  extra- 
ordinary antics  which  the  insolent,  ill-grained 
fellow  had  performed;  and  then  he  added: 
"What  is  to  be  done  now,  Victor?  I  am 
afraid  we  are  at  fault." 

"  No !"  replied  Victor,  readily,  "  it  is  but  a 
temporary  cheek.  I  confess,  I  do  not  like  the 
silence ;  it  disturbs  rue  more  than  even  the 
ecreaming,  because  it  implies  desperate  mis- 
chief. Bates,  you  run  back  to  the  house,  and 
bring  back  With  you  my  bloodhound,  Hector ; 
he  will  be  sure  to  follow  on  my  trail.  You,  Charl- 
ton,  leash  your  dogs,  and  search  the  wood ; 
blow  your  dog- whistle  lustily,  if  you  unkennel 
the  gipsy  party.  You  will  accompany  me, 
Vaughan,  and  we  willtake  a  different  direction 
to  that  which  Charlton  selects.  Away  with  / 
you,  Charlton— follow  me,  Vaughan!  I  feel  * 
sick  at  heart,  and  ready  to  do  any  rascal  a 
serious  mischief!" 

As  he  concluded,  fee  plunged  into  a  narrow, 
leafy  alley,  closely  followed'by  Hjde  Vaughn,  » 
both  wearing  etern  countenances,  and  clutch- 
ing their  guns  firmly. 

Charltoa  tock  a  path  well  known  to  him, 
which  he  believed  would  certainly  conduct  him 
to  the  gipsies'  lair. 

Bates  hurried  back  to  the  maneion,  to  return 
with  Hector,  the  bloodhound! 


HAGAR  LOT; 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
".'  Let  us  bo  patient !    These  severe  afflictions 

Net  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 
Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

"  We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors  ; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps, 
What  eeem  to  us  but  sad  funereal  tapers, 
May  be  Heaven's  distant  lamps." 

—RESIGNATION. 

The  Daddy — as  Floret  bent  her  lustrous  hut 
sorrowful  eyes  upon  the  swart  faces  of  the  mem- 
bers of  hia  tribe,  men  and  women—watched  her 
from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows. 
1  He  noted  the  look  of  "disappointment  which 
atole  over  her  features,  and  he  mistook  its 
meaning. 

He  perceived  that  she  missed  the  presence  of 
aome  person,  and,  strangely  enough,  he  pre- 
sumed that  the  missing  person  was  the  Gran- 
nam.  He  knew  that  Floret,  had  detested  her ; 
yet  he  fancied  that  ehe  looked  fgr  her  hoping- 
ly  among  the  fraternity  there  assembled,  be- 
cause she  was  known  to  her,  and  it  would  be 
Borne  relief,  in  her  unhappy  position,  to  have 
some  one  near  her  whom  she  knew,  and  to 
irhom  she  could  speak  almost  without  re- 
straint. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  said  to  her,  in"  a 
whining  tone : 

"  'Ere's  a  werry  pleasant  an'  a  social  party 
velcome  you,  Vite  Rose.  There  ain't  von  on 
'em  as  '11  look  blue  or  wicious  at  you,  acos 
they  knows  if  they  did,  they'd  rapidly  come  to 
a  untimely  end,  aa  the  Grannam  did.  You  re- 
members the  Grannam,  Floret  ?  Ah !  she  was 
very  fond  o'you,  Vite  Rose — hem! — though 
she  didn't  sho  w  it.  An'  you  wua  werry  partial 
to  her,  too — leastviee,  I  think  so — though  you 
didn't  show  it,  nay ther.  Ah !  women's  quveer 
things,  they  is!  Ven  they  loves  you  werry 
much,  they  don't  show  it ;  and  ven  they  don't 
love  you, "they  don — they  do  show  it  then. 
Yes;  I'm.  afeard  they  do  show  it  then!  Yes — 
yes  !  The  Grannam's  gone,  Floret.  She  fret- 
ted a'ter  you,  an'  took  too  much  rum.  Jamaik- 
er  was  her  ruin.  Though  fehe  used  to  say  it 
vos  her  strength,  I  know'd  it  vos  her  veakness, 
an'  EO  she  found  it.  A'ter  you'd  gone  avay, 
an'I  vos  pin;n*  myself  into  the  figger  of  a  drum- 
medary,  the  Grannam  took  to  fallin'  to  a  ehad- 
der,  though  her  head  vent  on  a  swellin'  until 
it  reached  &.  orful  eize.  I  vonce  used  to  call 
her  nay  p'ony,  because  she  was  round-faced 
and  fresh-colored ;  but  I  vos  at  last  obleeged 
to  call  her  my  poppy — my  scarlet  poppy ;  for 
theJamaiker  cropped  up  out  of  her  cheeks. 
Ah !  an'  it  vent  on  croppin'  up,  until  her  coun- 
tynons  grew  'zactly  like  n  «  purple  cabbidge  to 
pickle.'  Then  it  wus  that,  von  night,  havin' 
put  avay  into  her  asmatieal  cheat  all  the  Ja- 
maikerefce  couldget  'old  on,  and  still conticoo- 
in'  thust.y,  she  vent,  ve  suppose,  in  search  of  a 
milder  licker.  Somehow,  I  didn't  rrdsa  her 
that  night ;  I  vcs  uneesy  ia  my  mind  about 
you,  Vite  Rose,  and  slept  wery  heavily  ;  but, 
in  the  mornin',  pome  von  found  her  boots — 
Bal-me-ral  boots,  with  slashing  scarlet  lacea  in 
*em— leania'  agin  tho  top  edge  of  ft  rnin- vater 


butt ;  and  ehe  voa  sfcll  ia  her  boots,  and  her 
mouth  vcs  down  at  the  tap  inside  the  butt,  in- 
stead of  being  down  at  it  outaide  the  butt.  She 
vos  werry  much  soaked,  cos  tho  butt  vos  near- 
ly full  o'  water ;  and  aetremely  dead,  becoalhe 
doctor  couldn't  bring  her  back  to  life.  An'  BO, 
aa  she  often  used  to  say,  it  vos  not  the  rum  aa 
killed  her,  but  the  vater.  Tho  Jamaiker  tod- 
dled her  up  to  the  tub,  p'raps,  and  the  Jamaik- 
er toppled  her  into  the  butt,  but  it  vos  the 
vater  as  killed  her.  Poor  Grannam's  gone 
dead !  You  von't  never  see  her  no  more,  Vite 
Rose — never  no  more!" 

He  paused,  in  order  to  let  his  words~hftve 
due  weight ;  but,  we  are  bound  to  acknowl- 
edge fiat  they  had  no  effect  upon  Floret,  or  if 
they  did,  it  was  one  which  was  was  rather 
cheering  than  otherwise.  She  perhaps  would 
have  preferred,  if  she  had  any  inclination  in 
the  matter  at  all,  that  the  Grannam  had  goue 
to  her  account  in  a  decent  and  proper  fashion, 
but  that  she  was  gone  had  a  decided  sort  of 
relief  to  her,  it  is  certain. 

While  these  thoughts  were  revolving  in  her 
mind,  one  of  the  gipsies,  a  tall,  muscular  fel- 
low, advanced  to  the  Daddy,  and  said,  in  a 
low,  husky  voice: 

"  Shall  we  put  the  glimmer  to  the  ruffmans, 
and  set  the  pot  agoin'  ?" 

"Shall  ve  borrow  a  bell,  or  a  gong,  or  a 
drum,  and  panjeen  pipes,  fin'  kick  up  a  row, 
an' hooray;  an'  sing  out,  "Ere's  a  Vite  Rose 
— who  vants  a  Vite  Rose*'"  responded  the 
Daddy,  sharply,  between  his  teeth.  "  There's 
a  little  party  on  the  'unt  for  us  now ;  you  >ave 
only  to  set  them  sticks  in  a  blaze,  an'  up  goes 
a  pale-blue  flag  over  the  tree  tops,  to  let  them 
aa  is  a  'uiiting  for  tia  know  azackly  vere  to 
drop  down  ou  us  like  a  thunder  storm." 

"  Vot  shall  ve  do  then?"  inquired  the  gipsy, 
gruffly. 

"  Nothen  then,  my  bean-stalk,"  returned  the 
Baddy,  quickly,  "  but  everythin'  now.  Strike 
the  tents,  diwide  the  peckage,  break  up  into 
twos  an'  threes ;  some'll  go  von  vay,  Bonae'll 
go  another ;  nobody  but  mft  an'  my  pardner 
vill'avethe  Vite  Rose,  an'  nobody  vot  ain't 
got  the  Vite  Rose  vill  know  any  thin'  about  a 
Vite  Rose!  Do  you  understand?"  , 

"All  right,  old-m*n-of-all,"  returned  tho 
gipsy,  £  ruffly  ;  "  a  leetle  grub  vculd  be  pleas- 
ant to  the  feelins  jis'  now,  but  if  ravens  ia 
about,  we  must  'ide  the  provender." 

He  turned  away,  and  proceeded  to  the  spot 
where  the  provisions  lay  clustered  in  a  heap. 
The  gipsiea  quickly  thronged  around  htm,  to 
watch  a  just  division  of  the  spoils,  and  Floret, 
observing  how  they  were  engaged,  said  to  the 
Daddy  earnestly,  in  an  undertone : 

"Wfcyhaveyou  seized  upon  me  in  such  a 
lawless  manner?— why  do  \ou  seek  to  detain 
me?  I  am  not  what  I  was  ;  you  can  see  that 
I  shill  never  be  again  what  I  have  been.  You 
must  know  that— why,  therefore,  do  y  ou  abuse 
a  power  which  you  accidentally  possess,  and 
which  cannot,  in  tho  course  of  nature,  belong 
to  you,  to  do  ine  a  wrong,  who  never  did  yoi 
an  injury." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


"  Yild  Rose— Yild  Vite  Rose— who  said  I 
you'd  do  you  a  wrong?"  returned  the  Daddy, 
speaking  with  singular  energy  ;  "  who  said  so  ? 
Whoever  it  vaa  lied— lied,  I  say,  lied ;  I  love 
you,  Vite  Rose,  an'  I  vill  never  wrong  you — 
no,  110 — 0  no,  Vite  Rose — no,  never." 

"  But  you  threatened  me  with  murder  a  lit- 
tle while  ago,"  she  responded,  emphatically. 

"  Only  if  you  tried  to  bolt  from  me,  that  vaa 
all,"  he  said,  resuming  hia  whining  tone;_"I 
cannot  live  vithout  you— I  vill  not  live  vith- 
out  you,  and  you  shall  not  live  vithout  me." 

"  To  what  good?"  rejoined  Floret;  "I  am 
changed  since  we  were  parted  ;  I  was  a  child 
then — I  am  a  woman  now — at  least  I  have  a 
woman's  feelings ;  trouble,  trial,  sorrow,  an  in- 
ward misery,  which  has  no  voice,  have  made 
me  leap  from  childhood  to  womanhood;  I 
I  have  had  no  girlhood.  When  I  left  you,  I 
was  ignorant — I  am  now  educated — I  cau  be, 
therefore,  of  no  value  to  you," 

«« My  Vite  Rose  is  troubled  vith  an  error," 
he  replied,  promptly,  "a very  serous  error: 
ven  you  vos  a  little  child,  a  fair-haired,  vite- 
faced — the  Lord !  your  face  is  vite  enough  now 
— a  vite  faced  little  snowdrop  you  vos  a  little 
goold-mine  to  me ;  ven  you  vos  a  p'imrose,  a 
cowslip,  a  yellow  heart-ease,  you  vos  ptill  a 
goold-mine  to  me.  You  know  how  your  pooty 
Ultle  fingers  made  me  the  bootifoolest  bow- 
pots,  an'  how  goolden  suvreigns  wus  given  to 
you  for  a  penny  buEch  o'  wilets  ;  vasn't  you  a 
goold-mine  to  me  then  ?  You'll  be  von  to  me 
again." 

"How?"  she  inquired,  bternly,  looking 
strangely  like  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester 
in  some  of  her  moods,  when  she  put  that  ques- 
tion. 

The  Daddy  leered  cunningly  at  her. 

"  Does  the  Vite  Rose  know  who  placed  her 
in  my  care?  'he  asked. 

"  I  was  stolen  from— from — Mamma  Atten," 
returned  Floret,  passing  her  hand  thoughtfully 
across  her  brow. 

"Ay,  p'raps,  werry  likely,"  he  returned, 
quickly,  *'  but  not  by  Daddy  ;  no,  Daddy  re- 
ceived you  almost  a  babby  from  them  as 
know'd  who  you  are." 

She  clutched  him  by  the  arm,  and  gazed  in 
his  face  with  intense  eagerness,  he  spoke  so 
emphatically. 

"P'raps,"  he  continued,  "  I  knows  who  you 
are,  p'raps  I  don't ;  but  vot  I  does  know  is, 
there's  money  hanging  to  you,  suv'rins  drip- 
pin'  from  your  fair  locks,  from  your  tongue, 
your  lips,  your  cloak,  your  feet — goold,  goold, 
goold, yaitin'  for  me  to  pick  it  up.  « Pardner,' 
I've  said  to  myself  in  the  still  night,  ven  the 
stars  've  shono  out  in  the  clear,  dark  eky  Hke 
d'mands  on  a  purple  welwetj  curting,  *  pardner, 
'ere  is  all  this*goold  a  lay  in.' about  neglected, 
vaitin'  for  you  an'  I  to  pick  it  up,  a  raal  Tom 
Tidler's  ground,  sparkling  and  glittering  like  a 
spangled  veskit,  an'  ehall  ve  vileve  lives  let  it 
wanish  from,  our  eyea,  and  from  our  fingers — 
pardcer,  athout  adespert  struggle.  No  I  An' 
if  vo  loses  it,  if  ve  loses  it,  vot  vill  life  be  vorth 
vill  the  vorld  be  vorth,  not 


livin'  for,  sure-ly.  No,  an'  so  if  ve  can't  'ave 
it,  pardner,  ve'll  die  over  it — ve'll  die  over  it 
— but  the  goolden  rose  shall  die  ovtr  it,  too— 
she  shall  die  over  it,  too — for  if  ve  makes  no 
goold  out  on  her,  nobody  else  shall — no,  no ; 
nobedy  else  shall." 

While  the  last  words  were  yet  upon  his  lips, 
a  large  bloodhound,  with  a  low  but  terrible 
growl,  crashed  through  the  briars  and  haw- 
thorn bushes,  and  bounded  into  the  open 
space. 

With  a  wild  and  terrified  yell,  the  gipsy 
women  sprang  to  their  feet.  The  men,  who 
were  huddled  together,  enarling  over  the  divi- 
sion of  the  provisions,  roee  up,  too  ;  and  the 
tall,  bony  fellow  who  had  a  few  minutes  pre- 
viously addressed  the  Daddy,  seized  up  a  stout 
stick,  and  made  a  fierce  blow  at  the  huge  ani- 
mal, as  with  glaring  and  inflamed  eyes  he 
stood,  panting  and  looking  about  him,  as  if  un- 
decided which  of  the  tribe  he  should  select  to 
worry. 

The  dog,  on  seeing  the  blow  directed  at  him, 
spreng  nimbly  on  one  side,  and  in,  another  in- 
stant he  was  up  at  the  gipsy's  throat,  crunch- 
ing with  his  teeth  the  man's  collar  and  neck- 
cloth. 

The  man  shouted  with  fright,  and  the  women 
screamed  with  horror.  Not  one  of  the  gipaies 
dared  assail  the  dog,  although  he  was  fully  oc- 
cupied with  his  attack  upon  their  comrade. 
They,  however,  after  their  first  gestures  of  ter- 
rified surprise,  caught  up  sticks  and  tent-poles, 
and  were  about  to  attempt  to  beat  him  off  their 
companion,  who  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  when 
a  fresh  incident  drew  their  attentioa. 

Through  the  opening  in  the  glade  by  which 
the  Daddy  had  conducted  FJoret,  came  hur- 
riedly Lord  Victor  and  Hyde  Vaughan,  fol- 
lowed by  the  two  gamekeepers,  Charltou  and 
Bates. 

A  low,  malignant  howl  was  raised  by  the 
gipsies,  and  each  one  of  the  men  drew  a  knife, 
or  some  such  weapon,  as  if  they  expected  a 
fierce  conflict  to  ensue,  and  were  determined 
to  be  prepared  for  it. 

The  moment  Lord  Victor  saw  Floret,  he  re- 
cognized her,  though  his  expanded  eyes  and 
elevated  eyebrows  betrayed  that  he  was  not  4 
little  surprised  by  the  alteration  wlmh  had 
tiken.  place  in  her  appearance. 

The  expression  of  his  eyes  betrayed,  too, 
that  admiration  was  blended  with  that  sur- 
prise, and  as  well  that  he  felt  inwardly  de- 
lighted, not  only  that  he  had  succeeded  in  dis- 
covering lier,  but  that  he  should,  in  all  prob- 
ability, prove  the  instrument  of  her  deliver- 
ance. 

Without  noticing  the  deadly  combat  which 
waa  going  on  upon  the  grass,  between  his  dog 
Hector  and  the  prostrate  gipsy,  he  advanced 
hastily  toward  Floret ;  but  with  a  screeching 
yell,  the  Daddy  threw  himself  between  her 
and  Lord  Victor,  and  brandishing  a  knife,  he 
cried  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"  Stay  vere  you  are,  stay  vere  you  are,  or 
I'll  plunge  this  pisoned  Juafe  in  her  'art  I—I 
vill,  I  vill!" 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


Floret  screamed  and  wrung  her  hands.  She 
waved  Victor  back  excitedly. 

«'  Do  not  approach  me,"  she  cried,  vehe- 
mently ;  "you  will  cause  iny  death  if  you  do ! ' 

She  knew  the  Daddy's  nature  only  too  well. 
She  knew  that  she  was  standing  upon  the 
very  brink  of  certain  destruction,  and  that  if 
flhe  allowed  Lord  Victor  to  take  another  step 
nearer  her,  her  life  would  not  be  worth  another 
moment's  purchase. 

He  paused  with  a  look  of  amazement,  and 
at  the  same  moment,  a  chorus  of  voices  ad- 
dressed him : 

44  Call  off  your  doe,  he's  murdering  the  man 
— ealUiim  off!" 

.•'"•     The  gipsies  seemed  to    know   instinctively 
that  the  dog  belonged  to  the  young  lord. 

He  glanced  for  an  instant  sternly  round  him 
at  the  gloomy,  scowling  men,  and  then  at  the 
pale  Floret  and  the  affrighted  Ida,  who,  in  her 
fear,  was  actually  clinging  to  a  rough  gipsy, 
while  her  eyes  were  bent  in  terror  upon  tha 
huge  bloodhound,  which  still  pinned  the  pow- 
erful gipsy  to  the  turf,  in  spite  of  his  tremen- 
dous struggles  to  release  himself. 

He  then  stepped  to  Bates,  who  carried  a 
spring  collar,  to  which  a  massive  steel  chain 
was  attached,  and  taking  it  from  him,  he  went 
tip  to  his  dog,  passed  the  collar  swiftly  round 
his  neck,  took  a  firm  hold  of  the  chain,  and 
shouting  a  few  words— which  the  animal  not 
only  recognized,  but  immediately  obeyed — he 
drew  him  away,  and  the  gipsy  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

Infuriated  with  rage,  he  drew  out  a  knife, 
and  would  have  made  a  rush  at  the  dog  ;  but 
two  of  his  companions  withheld  him.  Lord 
Victor,  in  a  loud  voice,  warned  him  back,  and 
Hyde  Vaughan  presented  a  double-barreled 
gun  full  at  his  head. 

For  a  moment  he  saw  not,  with  his  inflamed 
eyes,  these  demonstrations,  but  his  inability  to 
escape  from  the  strong  graep  of  the  men  who 
held  him,  and  the  closing  round  of  several  of 
the  women  of  the  tribe,  brought  him  back  tc 
something  like  a  comprehension  that  it  would 
be  best  for  the  moment  to  remain  quiet. 
!  "Within  a  few  minutes  more,  a  little  order 
was  restored,  and  then  Lord  Victor,  waving 
his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  haughty  dignity, 
he  exclaimed,  in  a  loud,  authoritative  voice  : 

"  Hear  me,  gipsies !" 

i     As  if  awed  by  his  manner,  as  well  as  by  his 
truly  lordly  appearance,  though  so  young  in 
years,  every  murmur  was  in  a  moment  hushed 
,  by  the  clustering  throng. 

Lord  Victor  took  a  step  toward  the  Daddy, 
and  gazing  at  him  sternly,  said  : 

"I  must  speak  to  the  young  lady  whose 
wrist  you  are  clutching,  ani  whose  life  you 
are  menacing  with  your  knife." 
.'•  i  "  You  may  speak,"  grunted  the  Daddy, 
slowly  ;  "  you  may  speak  to  her  there  where 
you  stand,  but  not  an  inch  nigher — not  a 
spider's  thread  nigher.  There  must  be  no 
touching  of  hands.  No,  no  ;  she  is  mine,  an'  I 
will  not  part  with  her  while  she  lives.  My 
hand  will  be  quicker  than  your  foot  She 


dies  if  you  draw  nigher ;  if  I  even  die,  too,  the 
moment  arter — I  care  naught  about  that!" 

"I  hold  such  threats  in  scorn  1"  exclaimed 
Lord  Victor,  curling  his  lip.  "With  one 
bound,  if  I  willed  it,  I  could  cast  you  to  the 
earth  before  you  could  life  your  hand  to  at- 
tempt the  accursed  deed  you  threafen." 

44  In  the  name  of  Heaven  remain  where  you 
are  I"  exclaimed  Floret,  agitatedly ;  "  the 
knife  is  tipped  with  a  subtle,  venomous,  and 
deadly  poison.  Were  you  to  attempt  to  rescue 
me,  you  would  only  sacrifice  your  own  life 
without  saving  mine." 

"  That's  it— that's  it,  Vite  Rose,"  cried  the 
Daddy,  quickly.  "  I  loves  you,  an'  I  von't 
'arm  you  if  they  leaves  us  alone ;  but  if  they 
do  interfere  at  ween  us,  I'll  kill  any  vone  as  tries 
it  on,  as  veil  as  you." 

44  What  does  all  this  mean?"  exclaimed 
Lord  Victor,  with  a  bewildered  look  at  Floret. 
'*  We  have  met  before,  as  you  know.  I  am 
acquainted  with  some  portion  of  your  history 
— that  also  you  know.  I  am  also  cognizant  of 
the  fact  that  the  lady  who  received  you  in  her 
house,  and  who  caused  you,  when  you  were 
extremely  ill  of  a  fever,  to  be  placed  at  a  cot- 
tage at  Heigate,  has  been  searching  for  you 
ever  since  you  disappeared,  and  that  she  is 
most  anxious  to  meet  with  you.  I  am  pre- 
pared, in  spite  of  what  this  old  ruffian  threat- 
ens, to  take  you  to  her  at  this  moment." 

"Are  you— are  you?"  cried  the  Daddy; 
"  but  I  isn't  prepared  to  let  her  go." 

As  he  concluded,  he  uttered  rapidly  several 
sentences  in  a  gibberish,  or  Romany  dialect, 
which  the  gipsies  promptly  comprehended. 

Lord  Victor  looked  suspiciously  at  him,  but 
as  the  gipsies  all  remained  motionless,  he  con- 
tinued to  address  Floret. 

44  You.  need  not  heed,  nor  need  you  fear  the 
jargon  which  this  wretched  man  utters,"  he 
said.  "  I  will  protect  you ;  I  have  the  means 
at  hand,  and  I  have  the  power.  You  may 
safely  trust  yourself  with  me.  I  will  conduct 
you  promptly  to  the  lady  to  whorn  I  have 
alluded,  or  anywhere  else  you  may  wish  to  be 
conveyed.'' 

4'  You  are  Terry  good,  but  it  ain't  goin'  to 
be  done !"  exclaimed  the  Daddy,  between  his 
teeth.  "  Floret  knows  me  pooty  veil.  She 
knows  that  her  spirit  vou'd  be  in  kingdom 
afore  you  could  vink  a  neye-lash.  She  knows^ 
the  gipsy  people  and  their  vays  afore  to-day—* 
say  so,  Floret.  I  don't  tie  your  tongue,  Vite? 
Rose,  not  I ;  say  vot  you  please,  but  you  know- 
speaks  vot  is  true.'' 

I  Floret  once  more  wrong  her  hands.  She 
drew  a  deep  breath,  and  with  a  strangely- 
meaning  look  into  Victor's  eyes,  she  said : 

44  Beware !" 

Then  she  rapidly  added : 

"  I  have  to  ask  of  you  as  a  favor  to  leave  me 
to  my  fate.  I  shall  come  to  no  harm  with  this 
old  man,  and  I  must  work  out  my  deliverance 
myself — alone,  unaided.  It  is  my  destiny.  We 
may  meet  again,  Lord  Victor,  in — in— in" — her 
voice  trembled,  and  some  unbidden  tears 
sprang  into  her  eyes,  but  she  made  an  effort, 


OR,  THE  FATE  «F  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


and  checked  her  emotion—"  in  brighter,  hap- 
pier times — at  least,  such  to  me.    If  that  time 
should  ever  come,  I  shall  know  how  to  thank 
you  for  your  generous  and  brave  interference 
in  my  favor  to-day.    But  there  stands  a  young 
lady,  who  has  been  my  companion  in  some 
affliction  and  some  sore  trials;  these  people 
have  no  wish  to  detain  her,  and  if  you  will,  my 
lord,  conduct  her  to  the  lady  of  whom  you 
have  spoken,  and  entreat  her  to  befriend  her, 
I  will  pray  for  you  while  I  live." 
I  "  I  will  take  charge  of  that  young  lady !" 
exclaimed  Hyde  Vaughan,  who  had  been  gaz- 
ing upon  Ida  with  wondering  and  admiring 
€yea  for  some  minutes  previously.    *'  She  shall 
go  to  my  mother  and  eister.    She  will  come  to 
no  griei  in  my  custody,  I  will  vow." 
•&  "  No,  no,  no !"  cried  Ida,  excitedly.    "  I  will 
not  leave  you,  Edith.    I  will — " 
*  But  her  voice  was  suddenly  drowned  in  a 
wild  and  frantic  Indian-like  yell,  which  ema- 
nated from  the  women  of  the  tribe.    Like  a 
band  of  infuriated  demons,  they  sprang  with 
one  accord  upon  Lord  Victor,  Hyde,  and  the 
two    gamekeepers,  and  forced    them   to  the 
ground,  before  they  were  in  any  degree  able 
to  resist.    The  men  joined  them  immediately 
afterward  in  the  attack,  and,  almost  as  soon  as 
•we  have  taken  to  describe  it,  Lord  Victor  and 
his  companions  were  made    captive,   bound 
hand  and  foot,  and  gagged. 
,    The  dog  Hector,  hampered  by  collar  and 
chain,  'was  pounced  upon,  and  in  an  instant  his 
throat  was  ruthlessly  slit  from  ear  to  ear.   The 
guns  were  taken  away  by  the  gipsies,  and  hid- 
den beneath  the  hawthorn  bushes  and  in  gul- 
lies, a  short  distance  from  the  glade.    The 
whole  of  the  provisions  and  tents  were  then 
scrambled  up,  and  ihe  gipsies,  dividing  into 
parties,  straggled  hastily  away  in  various  di- 
rections. 

i  The  Daddy,  attended  by  a  woman  and  two 
men,  hurried  off  with  Floret  and  Ida,  both  of 
whom  he  had  previously  caused  to  be  gagged. 
And  there  remained  in  the  glade,  within  a  few 
minutes  after  this  onslaught  had  commenced, 
only  Lord  Victor,  his  friend,  and  the  two  game- 
keepers, stretched  upon  the  grass,  bound  and 
helpless. 

CHAPTER  XtV. 

'll'Tis  true,  they  are  a  lawless  brood, 
iBut  rough  in  form,  nor  mild  in  mood  j 
•And  every  creed,  and  every  race, 
(With  them  hath  found — may  find  a  place  ; 
But  open  speech  and  ready  hand, 
'Obedience  to  their  chief's  command  ;J 
*A  soul  far  every  enterprise, 
That  never  sees  with  terror's  eyes  ; 
Friendship  for  each  and  faith  to  all, 
'And  vengeance  vow'd  for  those  who  fall 
Have  made  them  fitting  instruments 
Far  more  than  e'en  my  own  intents.'* 
f  —THE  BRIDE  OF  ABTDOS. 

J  After  many  days  and  nights  of  travel,  by 
by-paths,  through  forests  and  moors,  the  gip- 
sies came  to  a  resting-place. 
\  They  had  now  reached  the  centre  of  Eng- 
land, and  arrived  at  a  spot  which  might  be 
termed  the  gipsies'  home.  Here  dwelt  the 
king  of  the  gipsies ;  here  the  oldest  and  most 


influential  men  and  women  of  the  various  tribei 
either  resided  or  visited  ;  and  here  the  young 
and  the  sturdy  of  both  sexes  came  to  be  mar- 
ried, or  to  perform,  or  to  be  initiated  into, 
some  of  those  mystic  rites,  which  are  peculiar 
to,  and  pertain  alone  to  the  gipsy  race. 

Among  the  community  who  lived  here  the 
Daddy  was  a  patriarch  and  a  chief ;  he  had  con- 
siderable influence,  and  was  well  versed  in  the 
regulations  and  laws  by  which  the  people  were, 
it  may  be  said,  self-governed.  Much  deference 
was  paid  to  what  fell  from  his  lips,  and  almost 
implicit  obedience  to  his  commands. 

Arrived  here  safely,  he  conducted  hia 
"treasure"  and  her  companion  to  a  pictur- 
esque locality,  a  grassy  arena,  encompassed  by 
trees,  some  at  least  a  century's  growth,  and 
others  yet  more  aged.  A  considerable  throng 
of  the  gipsy  fraternity  were  here  assembled— 
old  and  young,  men, "women,  boys,  and  girls. 
They  had  formed  an  irregular  circle,  and  it 
was  evident,  by  their  attention  to  some  object 
who  was  within  the  reserved  space,  that  some 
proceeding  of  importance  to  their  community 
was  taking  place. 

The  Daddy  looked  on  the  assemblage  with 
an  eye  of  misgiving,  but  he  pressed  forward, 
dragging,  rather  than  leading,  Floret.  Ida 
clung  to  her  companion's  robe,  and  the  Daddy, 
elbowing  his  way  among  a  part  of  those  indi- 
viduals who  formed  a  portion  of  the  human 
ring,  the  three  were  quickly  within  the  limits 
of  the  prescribed  circle. 

The  Gipsy  King,  a  white-haired,  shriveled 
old  man,  who  looked  all  bandana  handkerchief 
and  boots,  was  seated  on  a  grassy  hillock, 
which  was  his  throne.  He,  as  well  as  the  sur- 
rounding throng,  was  listening  to  an  old 
woman,  who,  with  theatrical  gesticulations, 
was  haranguing  the  King,  and  constantly  ap- 
pealing to  the  people. 

The  Daddy  bent  his  eye  upon  her,  and  he 
grinned  savagely.  He^glanced  at  Floret,  and» 
put  his  hand  into  the  p'bcket  of  his  velveteen 
jacket,  where,  lying  loosely,  was  his  knife  with 
the  envenomed  blade.  He  gripped  the  handle 
malignantly,  and  gulped  twice  or  thrice  very 
suggestively;  but  he  stood  perfectly  still, 
keeping  his  keen,  brilliant  black  eye  beat  upon 
the  woman  who  was  speaking.  \ 

She  was  a  strange,  weird-looking  creature, 
evidently  very  old,  for  her  face  was  of  the  hue 
of  a  dingy -yellow  morocco  leather,  and  was 
drawn  into  puckers ;  but  it  was  palpable  that 
she  retained  very  much  wiry  strength,  vigor, 
and  enercy. 

Her  form  was  lean  and  bony,  but  she  stood 
very  upright.  She  wore,  folded  over  her  head 
and"  pinned  beneath  her  chin,  a  kerchief  of 
scarlet  silk.  It  shrouded  from  sight  all  but 
her  wrinkled,  walnut-stained  visage,  and  her 
eves,  black  as  night. 

"  About  her  shoulders  and  neck  was  another 
handkerchief,  of  a  brilliant  yellow,  crimson- 
epotted,  and  beneath  it  a  short  kirtle  of  amber 
worsted  stuff,  adorned  with  black  stars,  which 
reached  to  the  tops  of  a  pair  of  coarse  but  well- 
fitting  leather  boots,  laced  up  the  centre. 


58 


HAGAR  LOI ; 


She  commanded,  it  was  apparent,  the  re- 
spectful attention,  not  only  of  the  people  who 
were  spread  around  her,  but  of  the  monarch 
of  the  tribe,  for  he  several  times  waved  hia 
hand  approvingly  when  she  advanced  a  pro- 
position with  more  than  usual  force. 

As  the  Daddy  entered  the  arena  with  Floret, 
she  had  just  concluded  an  observation  which 
had  elicited  from  her  auditors  murmurs  of 
applause;  but  the  very  instant  the  scores  of 
flashing  black  eyes  glittering  round  the  cir- 
cle turned  upon  the  Daddy,  those  murmurs 
were  promptly  hushed,  and  each  man  and 
woman  exchanged  significant  looks  with  his  or 
her  neighbor. 

This  sudden  silence  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  old  woman  who  had  been  speaking. 
Bhe  turned  her  head  toward  the  Daddy,  and, 
&s  she  perceived  him,  and  with  him  two  young, 
fair,  shrinking  girls,  a  lurid  gleam  shot  from 
her  star-like  eyes,  and  with  a  wild  smile,  she 
cried,  in  an  elevated  tone,  with  piercing  clear- 
ness: 

"He  is  here!  In  his  hand  he  holds  the 
White  Rose!" 

A  curious  low  murmur  ran  through  the  as- 
sembly. 

The  old  King  rose  up,  shaded  his  eyes  with 
both  hands,  peered  at  the  Daddy  and  his  com' 
panions  for  a  minute,  and  then  slowly  re- 
sumed his  seat  again. 

The  Daddy  looked  for  a  minute  fixedly  and 
searchingly.at  the  King,  and  then  he  slowly 
turned  hia  eyes  upon  the  grim,  gaunt  old  gipsy 
woman. 

She  had  faced  toward  him  ;  her  right  arm 
was  down,  and  her  hand  was  clenched ;  her 
left  hand  she  rested  upon  her  hip. 

Her  attitude  was  one  of  quiet  but  determined 
defiance  and  hostility. 

The  Daddy  scowled  at  her  ;  his  skin  changed 
to  a  pale,  repulsive  green ;  his  jaws  wagged 
quickly  together,  and^ie  growled  as  a  mastiff 
does  before  it  gives  an  angry  bark. 

"Eleia  of  Castile,"  he  muttered,  "Higar's 
old  ancient  aunt — I  sees  the  game !  O,  but — 
O,  but—" 

His  voice  seemed  to  'be  lost  in   an  effort 

which  he  made  to  keep  himself  from  choking. 

,       He  drew  his  knife  secretly  from  his  pocket, 

and  turned  the  blade  up  his  sleeve,  keeping 

the  handle  hidden  in  his  hand. 

He  tightened  his  hold  cf  Floret,  and  he  made 
one  or  two  attempts  to  clear  his  voice,  and  then 
said,  lustily  though  huskily  : 

"Great  Tawney  Prince— I,  Daddy  Windy, 
Maunder  and  Patrico,  am  here  !  I  bring  with 
me  the  Vile  Rose;  my  Vite  Rose,  Tawney 
Prince — my  Vite  Rose !  Mine — mine — on'y 
mine,  as  I  shall  prove  to  you,  Rum  Duke  and 
High  Pater,  venever  you  shall  magniminiously 
and  gra-shus-ly  gi'  me  the  chance  o'  dom/  on 

The  old  gipsy  seated  upon  the  mound,  whom 
he  had  addressed  as  "  Great  Tawney  Prince", 
raised  his  semi-bald,  grizzled,  and  dingy  head, 
and  looked  hard  at  him  beneath  his  shaggy 
eyebrows. 


Presently  he  said,  in  a  mumbling  and  not 
too  audible  tone : 

"  Vich  is  the  Vite  Rose  ?" 

The  Daddy  moved  a  few  paces  forward  in 
his  direction,  compelling  Floret— who,  with  a 
half-abasted,  half  indignant  air,  hung  back — 
to  accompany  him. 

Pointing  to  her,  he  said,  in  a  strange  tone, 
which  seemed  to  challenge  all  consequences 
which  might  follow  the  acknowledgment : 

"  Be'old  the  Vild  Vite  Rose !" 

An  eager,  whisper  ran  round  the  assem- 
blage, and  every  eye  there  was  fastened  upon 
Floret— even  that  of  the  aged  "  Tawney 
Prince". 

After  a  brief  inspection  of  her  face  and  form 
he  uttered  a  kind  of  grunt,  and  pointing  to 
Ida,  exclaimed  : 

"  Who's  t'other  ?" 

"  I  found  her  along  with  the  Vite  Rose,"  an- 
swered the  Daddy  ;  "  an'  I  let  her  come  vith 
us,  acos  the  Vite  Rose  wished  it." 

"She  is  a  house-dweller?"  observed  the 
monarch,  interrogatively.  i 

"In  her  nat'ral  state,  cert'ny,"  responded 
the  Daddy. 

"Born  such  —  bred  such  —  desires  to  die 
such  ?"  continued  the  monarch.  < 

"  Ain't  a  doubt  on't,"  returned  the  Daddy. 
"I  knows  nothing  about  her,  'cept  vot  I've 
told  you."  i 

"  You  have  done  wrong  to  bring  her  here  ; 
ehe  must  be  driven  away!"  exclaimed  the 
King,  in  a  harsh  and  angry  tone. 

"  Vith  all  my  'art,"  returned  the  Daddy, 
with  a  grin. 

"  No  !  no  !  no  I"  exclaimed  Floret,  hastily. 

"  Be  silent,  Vite  Rose  !"  exclaimed  the 
Daddy,  between  his  teeth.  "  Don't  say  a  vord, 
'eept  vot  I  bids  you,  if  you  vouldn't  have  fresh 
grass  growin'  and  a  blowin'  over  your  head 
ven  the  stars  peep  out." 

Raising  his  voice,  he  continued  : 

"  I  didn't  vant  to  bring  her  ;  I  vowed  she 
shouldn't  come  I  But  the  Vite  Rose  and  she 
vagged  their  tongues  agin  me  both  at  wonce. 
An'  vot  can  von  poor  old  man  do  agen  the 
tongues  of  two  vomen,  ven  they  vork  together 
with  a  strong  vill?" 

A  laugh  went  round  the  assembly. 

"  I  don't  vant  to  keep  her — I  don't  mean  to 
keap  her!"  continued  the  Daddy.  "  She  ain't 
no  use  to  me — she  von't  be  no  use  to  me  I* 
She's  followed  me  'ome  here,  like  a  strange 
cur,  an'  I  don't  vant  to  give  her  'ouae 
room!" 

"Drive  her  forth!''  cried  the  Gipsy  King, 
waving  his  hand  with  an  imperious  and  impa- 
tient movement. 

"  Drive  her  forth!"  yelled  a  dozen  voices  ; 
and  several  gipsy  girls  and  men  advanced  men- 
acingly toward  her.  < 

With  a  cry  of  fright,  Ida  rushed  to  Floret, 
and,  throwing  her  arms  round  her,  clung  to 
her. 

"Do  not  let  these  horrible  people  drive  me 
away  from  you,  Edith!"  she  exclaimed,  in 
tones  of  distress. 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


69 


The  Daddy  seized  hold  of  her,  and,  with 
abrupt  violence,  tore  her  away  from  Floret. 
He  thrust  her  rudely  back,  so  that  she  stagger- 
ed and  nearly  fell. 

"Go  ayay — be  off  with  you!"  he > cried, 
in  harsh,  savage  accents.  "Get  out"!  Ve 
den't  van't  nothen'  to  do  with  you  no  more — 
go!" 

A  loud,  shrill  hoot  burst  from  the  gipsy 
women,  and  they  moved  up  to  the  poor,  horri- 
fied girl,  with  threatening  gestures. 

Floret  started  at  the  alarming  sound,  but  it 
had  not  the  effect  of  dismaying  her — on  the 
contrary,  it  seemed  to  rouse  ak  once  her  dor- 
mant energies  into  energetic  action. 
.  The  Biddy  had,  after  pushing  Ida  back, 
once  more  laid  hold  of  her  wrist;  but,  with 
one  twist,  she  wrenched  herself  from  him,  and 
darting  up  to  Ida,  she  caught  her  round  the 
waist  with  one  arm,  and,  drawing  herself 
proudly  and  firmly  up,  she  waved  the  gipsies 
back. 

|  "  She  shall  remain  with  me  !"  she  cried,  with 
a  haughty  dignity,  and  a  glance  of  lofty  scorn 
at  the  people  who  were  pressing  upon  her; 
"  or  we  will  quit  this  hateful  place  together !" 
'  "  No — no !  You  don't  quit  no  place  vithout 
me  !"  cried  the  Daddy,  with  a  snarl,  as  he  ran 
up  and  made  an  attempt  to  seize  her  once 
more. 

She  thrust  him  back,  with  a  strength  which 
her  roused  spirit  alone  could  have  given  her  ; 
and,  hastily  placing  her  hand  in  her  bosom, 
she  drer/  fort?h  her  poniard,  and,  grasping  the 
hilt  firmly,  ehe  cried,  with  passionate  energy, 
as  she  held  it  menacingly  at  the  Daddy  : 
i  "  Stay  where  you  are :  this  blade  has,  too,  a 
poisoned  point  1  Liper  Leper  gave  it  to  me, 
and  told  me  that  it  was  venom-dipped — he 
would  not  have  said  that  falsely  to  me  !  Do 
not  move  a  step  nearer  to  me,  or  you,  who 
have  threatened  me  with  death,  shall  receive 
your  death  at  my  hands!  You  are  diiving 
m«  mad !  I  will  go  with  you  no  more !  I  will 
die  first!  Yew.  shall  not  drive  this  poor, 
bruised  creature  from  me.  We  will  remain 
together,  or  we  will  die  together!  A  scratch 
— &  touch — is  death !  Aha — aha !  You — you 
—you  have  told  me  that!" 

Floret  enunciated  these  words  with  vehement 
rapidity,  but  with  a  clearness  and  sharpness  of 
tone,  which  rendered  every  word  she  said  audi- 
ble to  those  even  at  a  distance,  and  her  knitted 
browe,  her  flashing  eyes,  her  flushed  cheek,  and 
her  lip  curling  with  scorn  and  indignation,  ex- 
pressed a  determinatiOQ,  which  assured  the 
Daddy,  at  least,  that  she  would  keep  her  word 
if  he  attempted  to  seize  her  again. 

It  eeemed  a  little  matter  to  spring  upon  her 
and  wrest  that  dagger  from  her,  but  the  Daddy 
was  an  experienced  and  cautious  old  man ;  he 
knew  that  even  young  girls  possess  considera- 
ble strength  when  their  anger  is  aroused  and 
they  mean  mischief,  and  he  was  aware,  too, 
that  the  simplest  scratch,  as  Floret  suggested, 
accidentally  received  in  a  tussle,  from  the 
weapon  she  held  in  her  hand,  would  place  him 
in  a  condition  to  have  fresh  grass  "  a  growin' 


and  a  bio  win'  "  over  his  head  when  the  stars 
were  peeping  out. 

He  therefore  followed  her  counsel,  and  re- 
mained where  he  was,  looking  for  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  dash  upon  her,  secure  her  wea- 
pon, and,  with  it,  her,  too. 

The  gipsy  woman  and  young  men,  when 
they  saw  the  antique  poniard,  and  heard  that 
Liper  Leper  was  the  donor  of  it,  drew  back, 
with  a  peculiar  promptitude,  which  betrayed 
their  appreciation  of  the  properties  which  the 
little  dagger  possessed,  and  awaited  events. 

The  poniard  had  a  character.  They  were 
not  anxious  to  trust  themselves  within  its  un- 
friendly reach. 

Ida  clung  shiveringly  to  Floret,  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  Do  not  let  them  separate  us,  Edith.  I  do 
not  fear  to  die,  but  do  not  let  us  be  parted,  un- 
less by  death." 

Floret  pressed  her  to  her  bosom,  but  her 
atteation  was  so  fastened  upon  the  Daddy,  that 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

She  knew  his  treacherous  cunning,  and  his 
promptness  for  action  when  opportunities,  for 
which  he  was  looking,  presented  themselves  ; 
she  had  eyes,  therefore,  for  no  one  but  him. 

Not  even  to  observe  approach  her  a  young 
and  etrikingly  handsome  man,  but  a  gipsy, 
who  was  better  dressed  and  far  more  attractive 
in  appearance  than  any  of  the  tribe  there. 

"Floret!"  he  ejaculated,  in  a  soft,  almost 
plaintive  tone. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  turned  her 
head  like  lightning  toward  him. 

"Liper  Leper!"  she  cried. 

"  Liper  Leper  I"  at  the  same  moment  ejacu- 
lated the  Daddy,  changicg  fiom  a  paie  saffron 
to  a  livid  gangrene  hue. 

Liper  Leper,  for  it  was  he,  without  seeming 
to  heed  the  amazement  of  either,  said  to 
Floret,  rapidly : 

"A  few  words  now;  a  conference  anen. 
Your  friend  must  depart  hence ;  ever,  as  for  a 
time,  you  must  remain  here.  You  will  trust 
her  with  me  ?  I  will  treat  her  as  gently  and 
as  respectfully  as  I  would— even  you.  Per- 
suade her  to  leave  you,  and  quickly,  too.  If 
ever  you  placed  faith  in  me,  Floret,  you  may 
now." 

Floret  kissed  Ida  on  the  forohead. 

"Go  with  him,  dear  Ida,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  will  be  far  safer  with  him  than  with 
me." 

Ida  looked  at  her  affrightedly,  and  then  at 
Liper  Leper.  She  had  heard  his  words,  and 
his  looks  reassured  her. 

'«  We  shall  be  reunited?1'  she  exclaimed,  in- 
quiringly, as  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  his. 

"You  shall!"  replied  Liper  Leper,  em- 
phatically, though  laconically. 

Ida  threw  her  arms  about  Floret's  neck,  and 
kissed  her  passionately  ;  then  she  placed  her 
hand  in  Liper  Leper's,  and  he  led  her  away. 

Floret  gazed  after  her  with  a  swelling  heart, 
as  she  saw  her  move  quickly  away.  Bhe  saw 
her  turn  her  face  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
went,  and  kiss  her  hand  to  her. 


60 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


She  brushed  away  a  tear  that  obtruded  it- 
self upon  her  eyelid,  and  stole  down  her 
cheek  ;  for,  as  Ida  disappeared,  a  feeling  of  bit- 
ter loneliness  took  possession  of  her,  and  this 
was  the  moment  that  the  old  Daddy  selected 
to  spring  upon  her  like  a  wild-cat,  with  the 
intention  of  wresting  the  poniard  from  her, 
and  make  her  once  again  his  captive. 

But  as  he  was  on  the  eve  of  m&king  his 
spring,  he  was  suddenly  seized  from  behind  by 
a  couple  of  tall,  stalwart,  wiry  gipsies,  who 
each  took  a  firm  hold  of  the  collar  of  his  coat 
and  of  liis  wrists,  and  held  him  motionless,  as 
If  he  was  in  a  vice. 

A  few  futile  attempts  to  struggle  told  him 
that  all  endeavors  to  release  himself  by  force 
from  the  men  who  held  him  would  be  hope- 
less ;  and  he  gave  up,  and  addressed  himself 
to  the  task  of  ascertaining  what  was  to  follow 
this,  to  him,  mofct  extraordinary  proceeding. 

To  his  dismay,  he  beheld  Hapar  Lot  pictur- 
esquely attired  in  the  dress  of  a  Gitana—  a  long, 
dark-blue  cloth  cloak  descending  to  her  heels, 
advancing  toward  Floret  slowly,  and  with  a 
measured  pace. 

By  her  eide  walked  Elcia  of  Castile,  her 
aunt,  who  moved  with  the  same  step. 

Hagar  took  the  right  hand  of  Floret,  Elcia 
the  left. 

Hagar  turned  her  lustrous  black  eyes  upen 
Floret  with  a  strange  look,  which  partook 
more  of  marvel  than  of  mere  curious  scrutiny. 

Whatever  were  her  impressions,  however, 
ehe  confined  them  within  her  own  breast,  and 
said,  laconically; 

"  Come  with  me,  and  fear  not." 

Floret  glanced  at  her,  and  though  ehe  was 
differently  attired,  and  three  eventful  years 
had  wrought  a  change  in  her  face,  ehe  recog- 
nized her.  It  was  she  who  had  placed  her 
with  the  Misses  Blixenfinik ;  but  it  was  she, 
also,  who  had  rescued  her  from  the  Daddy, 
after  he  had  seized  her  at  Reigate,  and  who  \ 
had  promised  that  she  should  never  have  cause 
to  fear  him  more. 

She  was  present  now,  doubtless,  to  withdraw 
her  from  hia  hands,  and  she, therefore,  opposed 
no  objection  to  her  request. 

She  permitted  her  and  her  old  gipsy  aunt 
to  retain  her  hands,  and  she  walked  between 
them  to  the  foot  of  the  simple  throne  of  the 
Gipsy  King. 

The  men  who  had  firm  hold  of  the  Daddy 
also  moved  with  their  prisoner  to  the  same 
place;   and  the    gipsies,   who    were   circled 
(  round,  in  their  anxiety  to  gee  and  hear  all  that 
'  passed,  drew  up  closer,  too. 
|     "When  the  former  paused  within  a  few  feet 
f  of  the  king,  the  old  monarch  looked  into  the 
>  face  of  Hagar,  and,  for  more  than  a  minute, 
!  Le  never  removed  his  eyes  from  her  counte- 
*  nance.    It  was  as  though  he  was  not  only 
examining  with  care  every  feature  she  pos- 
sessed,  but  as  if  he  was  penetrating    below 
their  surface  to  those  depths  which  would  re- 
veal to  him  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 

Slowly,  at  last,  he  removed  his  gaze  from 
her,  and  fastened  it  upon  Floret's  face ;  but 
for  a  few  seconds  only. 


'•  A  fount  pure  and  unp'lluted,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

He  next  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  Daddy's 
excited  countenance,  and  a  marked  change 
passed  lapidly  over  his  features.  He  mum- 
bled a  few  words,  which  were  not  audible. 
Then  he  turned  again  to  Floret,  and,  address- 
ing her  in  a  softer  and  kinder  tone  than  she 
had  expected,  he  said  : 

"You  are  the  Vild  Vite  Rose?  Speak— 
don'6  be  afeard,  child— answer  me!" 

"I  have  been  so  called   by  the   Daddy, 
she  returned,  in  a  low  tone,  pointing  to  him. 

"You  know  the  Daddy?"  interrogated  the 
King.  , 

She  shuddered  slightly,  and  said,  in  the  same 
kind  of  undertone : 

"I  do." 

"  And  you  knows  this  youn g  'ooman,  too  ?" 
he  continued,  pointing  to  Hagar. 

"  I  have  seen  her  before  to-day,"  she  replied, 
hesitatingly,  unknowing  really  what  to  an- 
swer. 

"  "Werry  good  !""exclaimed  the  King  ;  "  wer- 
ry  good !" 

Then  glancing  at  Hagar  and  at  the  Daddy, 
be  said,  interrogatively 

"You  both  on  you  claims  her  ?  ' 

"  I  do,  unhesitatingly  I"  exclaimed  Hagftr. 
"  The  Daddy  has  ne  claim  to  her  whatever !  If 
he  has,  let  him  prove  it  now !  If  he  does  so  to 
your  satisfaction,  O  Tawney  Prince  I  I  will 
resign  her  to  him  without  a  murmur,  and  never 
seek  more  to  disturb  him  in  his  right  to  detain 
her  in  his  custody !" 

"She  is  mine!  mine!  mif^l"  cried  the 
Daddy,  with  quivering  jawa. 

The  King  turned  his  head  slowly  to  lain,  and 
he  said : 

"  Daddy  "Windy,  Maunder  and  Patrico,  do 
you  remember  your  oath  to  me? ' 

"  Vot  oath  ?"  inquired  the  Daddy,  sharply. 

A  strange,  shrill  laugh  burst  from  the  lips 
of  the  aged  King:  It  was  more  like  the  howl 
of  a  hyena  than  a  human  laugh. 

The  old  man  tossed  up  his  hands  in  the  air, 
and,  addressing  the  gipsies,  cried  shrilly : 

"  Crank  cuffins  !  Ven  I  axes  the  Patrico  if 
he  remembers  his  oath  to  me,  he  axes  me  vofc 
oath?' 

A  low  murmur  of  derisive  laughter  ran  round 
the  assemblage. 

The  Daddy  felt  his  hair  shoot  out  straight, 
like  stalactites,  his  blood  prick  and  tingle,  and 
cold  drops  of  perspiration  creep  down  his 
back,  making  his  flesh  crawl. 

He  was  too  experienced  not  to  see  that  the 
King  and  the  whole  fraternity  were  excited 
against  him,  and  he  surmised  that  this  feeling 
might  proceed  far  enough  to  rob  him  of  the 
White  Rose. 

But  not  without  murder ! 

Wholesale  murder,  if  it  were  necessary ;  but, 
to  a  surety,  the  murder  of  the  White  Rose ! 
TheseTeelings  and  thoughts,  with  many  others 
occupied  but  a  second,  for,  assuming  the  cring- 
ing manner  he  had  so  often  adopted  to  Floret, 
he  said,  in  a  fawning  tone : 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


61 


O !  Tawney  Prince,  does  you  mean  the  oath 
of  legence  vich  I,  along  of  all  the  rest  o'  the 
canters  and  cuffins,  took  ven  you  vos  'lected 
king  over  us  all?" 

His  Majesty,  who  sat  all  of  a  heap,  with  his 
royal  chin  eubsimng  to  the  depths  of  his  loose, 
blue- spotted  handkerchief,  grunted  his  as- 
sent. 

"  I  does,  then,"  responded  the  Daddy, 
promptly  ;  "  every  vord  on  ii !" 

The  King  started  up  to  his  feet.  His  move- 
ment had  an  electrical  tfFect  upon  the  specta- 
tors. He  gazed  fiercely  on  the  Daddy,  and 
eaid,  in  a  harsh,  guttural  voice  : 

"  Kneel,  Patrieo,  and  repeat  that  oath!" 

He  turned  to  the  assemblage,  and  cried— 

"Silence,  all  on  you!  Listen  to  the  Pat- 
rieo !" 

Instantly  the  hubbub  was  hushed,  and  the 
moaning  of  the  wind,  as  it  swept,  soughing 
through  the  swaying  branches,  and  fretting 
the  restless  leaves  of  the  old  trees,  was  the  only 
sound  heard. 

CHAPTER  XV 

"  Slowly  the  silence  of  tie  multitudes 
Pass'd,  as  when  far  is  heard  in  some  lone  dell 
The  gathering  of  a  wind  among  the  woods— 
And  he  is  fallen  !  they  cry  ;  he  who  did  dwell 
Like  famine,  or  the  plapue,  or  aught  more  foil, 
Among  our  homes,  is  fallen  ;  the  murderer 
Who  slaked  his  thirsting  soul  as  from  a  well 
Of  blood  and  tears  with  ruin  !    Ee  is  here  ! 
Sunk  in  a  gulf  of  scorn  from  which  none  may  him 
rear  !  —THE  REVOLT  OP  ISLAM. 

Among  the  gipsy  fraternity,  the  renewal,  or 
rather  ratification,  of  an  oath  of  allegiance  was 
a  very  unusual  circumstance.  In  the  instances 
in  which  it  did  occur,  and  they  were  very  rare, 
the  individual  who  was  compelled  to  go 
through  the  ceremony  was  suspected  of  in- 
tending defection,  or  a  design  to  get  himself 
placed  in  the  seat  of  honor  occupied  by  the 
ruling  Tawney  Prince. 

Now,  as  the  Daddy  was  quite  convinced  that 
lie  neither  contemplated  defection  nor  the 
usurpation  of  the  throne,  he  could  not  com- 
prehend why  his  loyalty  should  be  doubted. 
An  uneasy  suspicion  that  his  quarrel  with 
Hagar  Lot  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  stole 
through  his  brain;  but  he  consoled  himself 
with  the  belief,  that  if  his  surmise  should  prove 
to  be  truth,  he  had  greater  influence  onthe  fra- 
ternity, and  even  with  the  monarch  himself, 
than  she  had,  and  that  he  should  prevail 
when  the  claims  of  both  to  the  White  Rose, 
and  the  origin  of  their  dispute,  came  to  be  dis- 
cussed. 

So,  when  the  two  muscular  gipsies,  who  yet 
held  him  in  their  grip,  released  their  hold,  he 
slowly  bent  his  old  legs,  and  sunk  upon  his 
knees  before  the  Tawney  Prince. 

Then  he  said,  in  a  husky,  but  yet  loud  and 
rather  high-pitched  voice : 

"  I,  Carkas  Cooper,  but  Jby  my  baptized 
name,  Daddy  Windy,  a  gipsy  born,  gipsy 
bred,  Maunder  and  Patrieo  of  my  tribe,  do 
here,  upon  my  knees,  on  the  green  grass  vich 
aome  day  shall  kiver  my  breast,  beneath  the 
broad  eky,  vithout  a  cloud  or  vith  a  cloud,  in 


the  sunshine  or  the  shadow,  v«n  the  stars  are 
Bleeping,  place  my  palms  to  thy  pilma,  O 
Tawney  Prince,  and  by  the  Great  All  Powerful 
and  celestial  spirit,  Baal,  I  swear !" 

The  King  rose  up  slowly,  and  with  him  the 
Daddy,  still  keeping  the  palms  of  hia  hands 
resting  upon  those  of  the  King's. 

There  was  a  slight  movemeLt  among  the  peo- 
ple, but  it  was  only  made  with  the  object  of 
catching  every  word  he  uttered. 

The  Daddy  then  went  on  to  say : 

"I,  as  a  Crank  Cuffin,  vill  be  a  true  brother 
vile  the  breath  o'  life  continues  in  my  body.  I 
vill  in  all  things-" 

"  In  all  things !"  iterated  the  King,  with  em-  [ 
phasis.  \ 

"  In  all  things,"  repeated  the  Daddy,  in  a 
eomewhat  fainter  tone,  "  obey  the  commands 
of  the  great  Tawney  Prince.  I  vill  keep  his 
counsel,  and  foller  is ;  and  I  vill  not  divulge 
secrets,  nor  those  o'  the  bruthrin." 

"  Ugh !"  grunted  the  King. 

"  I  vill  not,"  continued  the  Daddy,  "  at  no 
time,  an'  for  no  cause,  an'  under  no  considera- 
tion, nor  temptation  votsomdever,  leave,  quit, 
or  forsake  the  fraternity  in  yieh  I  vos  born,  to 
vich  I  belong,  and  in  vich  I  hope  to  die.  I 
vill  obey  all  orders  sent  to  me  by  my  Prince, 
through  a  lawful  Cuffin,  an'  observe  an'  keep 
all  appointments  vensoever  an'  veresoever 
made,  vether  it  be  in  the  starlight,  or  in  the 
sunlight,  in  any  place,  if  vitbin  the  reach  of  a 
four-legeed  prad  or  shanks'  ten-toed  trotter. 

"  I  vill  never  disclose,  nor  vill  I  teach  our 
secret  mysteries  to  any  von  out  of  kingdom 
come,  unless  it  be  to  a  true  an'  regularly  ad- 
mitted an'  s  /torn  Cuffin  an'  brother. 

"  I  vill  take  my  Prince's  part  agin  all  the 
vorld.  I  vill  not  myself  abuse  nor  deceive 
him,  nor  vill  I  suffer  any  other,  from  an  abram 
to  a  curtal  livin',  to  do  so  likewise  ;  bat  I  vill 
defend  him  and  every  true  brother,  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  against  all  outliers  votever,  tak- 
ing or  making  no  'ception. 

^  "  An'  lastly.  I  vill  never  myself,  nor  vill  I 
aid  any  von  else,  indweller  or  outlier,  to  oppose 
him,  his  vill,  or  his  vord,  his  laws,  or  the  laws 
vich  have  been  made  for  the  good  an'  whole- 
some governin'  on  us  all." 

This  strange  affirmation  the  Daddy  ratified 
by  an  oath  of  a  very  formidable  character, 
which  it  is  not  necessary  here  to  repeat. 

When  he  ceased,  the  King  tossed  up  his 
hands,  and  bade  him  stand  back  on  the  same 
spot  from  which  he  had  advanced  to  kneel  to 
him. 

The  Daddy  obeyed  him,  with  an  aspect  in 
which  there  lurked  a  great  amount  of  misgiv- 
ing. 

When  he  had  approached  the 'gipsy  King  to 
kneel  before  him,  he  had  dexterously  returned 
his  knife  to  his  coat-pocket ;  and  now,  as  he 
glanced  at  Hagar,  he  thought  of  it,  with  a  sen- 
sation of  devilish  malignity 

The  King  called  Hagar  Lot  to  stand  forth.    ', 

She  quitted  the  side  of  the  ancient  tvoman, 
Elcia  of  Castille,  and  with  a  slow  and  stately 
step  approached  him. 


62 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


When  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  she  paused, 
and  drawing  her  figure  erect,  she  folded  her 
arms,  and  gazed  steadfastly  and  sternly  upon 
him. 

He  returned  her  fixed  gaze  with  one  equally 
steadfast,  and  he  said,  laconically,  but  emphat- 
ically: 

"Speak!" 

"  There  is  a  law,  O  Tawney  Prince,  in  force 
among  our  people,"  she  commenced,  in  aslovr, 
but  cle*r  and  marked  tone,  "which  gives  to 
her  charge  eolely  the  child  whom  she  may 
have  received  from  those  who  disdaia  or  fear 
to  acknowledge  it  as  their  own  to  the  world. 
As  ehe  receives  it,  so  she  has  the  right  to  exer- 
cise an  exclusive  control  over  it,  as  long  as  she 
pleases,  or  until,  having  married,  it  becomes 
the  property  of  another." 

"  That  ia  eo,"  rejoined  the  king. 

Hagar  pointed  to  Floret. 

"This  girl— the  nameless,  the  homeless,  the 
outcast— was  consigned  to  me  by  the  only  be- 
ing living  who  had  the  power  of  doing  so.  I 
took  the  bird  from  its  nest,  and  upon  myself 
the  responsibility  of  its  support.  I  dared  not 
bring  it  to  the  tribe,  for  suspicion  would  have 
fallen  upon  them  ;  and  if  it  had  been  known 
that  it  was  concealed  among  our  people,  you 
would  all  have  been  hunted  through  the  land. 
As  it  was,  those  who  have  traversed  Kent 
know  how  much  of  suffering,  of  insult,  of 
trouble,  the  name  of  the  Poor  Girl  has  caused 
them." 

A  murmur  of  assent  ran  through  the  assem 
bly,  and  for  the  moment  arrested  her  speech. 
As  it  subsided,  she  went  on : 

"  To  save  our  people  from  being  hunted  like 
foxes  from  covert  to  covert,  I  placed  her  with 
the  Daddy,  warning  him  that  I  should  claim 
her  from  him  some  day.  Accepting  a  sum  of 
money,  and  a  promise  of  more,  he  consented 
to  receive  her  on  my  conditions.  Years  of 
suffering  and  sorrow  to  me  passed  away,  but 
the  time  arrived  when  it  became  necessary  that 
I  should  claim  her.  I  did  so.  The  Daddy, 
violating  his  agreement,  refused  to  restore  her 
to  me — he  even  threatened  me  with  a  scratch  of 
a  poisoned  knife  if  I  attempted  to  take  her  away 
from  him.  I  was  compelled  to  resort  to  strat- 
agem to  regain  her  ;  and,  having  succeeded,  I 
placed  her  where  she  became  the  mistress  of 
book-lore,  and  those  accomplishments  whica 
lady  house- dwellers  delight  in.  From  this 
place  ehe  fled,  and  fell  into  the  Daddy's  way. 
He  has  again  seized  her,  and  I  demand  her 
from  him,  having  alone  that  claim  to  her 
which  our  laws  sustain,  and  which  our  people 
resnect." 

:  The  King,  who  had  listened  to  Hagar  with 
undivided  attention,  turned  slowly  to  the  Dad- 
dy, and  exclaimed,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis : 

"  What  answer  can  you  make  to  Hagar  ?" 

The  Daddy  fancied  that  he  knew  the  worst 
now,  and  that  by  unhesitating  recklessness  of 
assertion,  and  by  plausibility,  he  might  be  able 
to  defeat  her. 

"Great  Tawney  Prince,"  he  replied,  in  a 
cringing,  specious  tone,  "Hagar, the Castilian, 


is  a  vondwful  'ocmam.  She  knows  the  atari 
veil;  she  knows  the  natur'  o'  pisons  fcetler 
tban  any  on  us.  She  can  speak  the  langvidges 
of  many  peoples  beside  her  own  ;  an' she  knows 
equally  veil  how  to  make  a  goolden  guinea  out 
o'  a  buttercup.  If  she  can  read  the  stars  yeH, 
she  can  read  'uman  natur'  better  ;  an'  as  even 
Kings  is  'uman  and  veak,  she  knows  how,  by 
sooperior  ingenooity,  to  get  a  good  deal  the 
best  o'  the  best  on  us.  Vat  chance,  then,  'as  a 
poor  old  viddered  objek  like  the  Daddy  ven 
she  seta  herself  up  to  oppose  him  ?'' 

"  Do  epeak  the  truth  like  a  man,  athout  fear 
or  favor,'an'  not  go  beatin'  about  the  bush  like 
a  cat  after  a  robin !"  suddenly  interposed  the 
Tawny  Prince,  snappishly. 

^The  Daddy  screwed  up  his  eyea,  and  ground 
his  teeth  together,  but  he  stifled  his  rage,  and 
went  on. 

"Vell,thea,"  he  eaid,  "I  own's  as  Hagar 
brought  to  me  the  Vite  Ross,  as  she  ras  told 
you.  She  had  stole  it  vile  sleepin'  in  its  bed 
from  Beechboro',  in  Kint,  vich  she  hasn't  told 
you.  She  axed  me  to  bring  it  up,  an'  to  keep 
it,  an'  she  you'd  pay  me  for  its  keep  at  so  much 
a  month,  vich  she  didn't.  I  kep  it  for  yeers, 
an'  ven  it  vas  taken  from  me,  she  neether 
claimed  it  nor  took  it  avay,  it  vos  some  von 
else.  Ven  she  guv  it  to  me,  an'  didn't  pay  for 
it,  she  made  it  mine  by  our  own  laws.  An* 
ven  she  came  to  me  for  it,  it  vos  a'ter  I  had 
stolen  it  for  myself.  Ven  it  vos  captoored 
from  me,  her  claim  vent  avay  with  it ;  ven  I 
stole  i£  back,  the  gal  vos  my  property,  and 
Hagar  can't  appeal  to  our  IAWS  and  show  me 
von  vhich  gives  her  a  ounce'  claim  to  the  Vite 
Rose.  II  she  can,  then  I'm  done,  and  111  be 
dumb.  Bat,  Tawney  Prince,  there's  a  heap  o' 
money  a  hanging  to  this  bloomin'  fiowver,  vich 
vill  be  mine  ven  I  restores  her  to  her  fami-ly, 
as  I  shall  do  some  day  ven  they  vants  her 
'ome  agen  werry  bad.  Now,  I  am  an  old,  an- 
cient man,  an'  I  don't  s'pose  that  I've  a  werry 
long  perod  o'  felicious  'appiness  an'  boundin' 
gladness  to  look  forrard  to.  So,  ven  I  gets  the 
goold  I  speak  on  through  this  'ere  little  vite- 
'art  cherry  bloasom,  I  shall  divide  the  whole 
on't  betareen  the  lot  on  you  I" 

This  promise  of  a  piece  of  practical  philan- 
thropy was  not  without  its  effect  upon  the  au- 
ditory, aad  they  expressed  their  approba- 
tion of  his  sentiments  by  a  murmur  of  ap- 
plause. 

"He  has  already  made  a  c or siderable  sum 
of  money  by  the  beauty  of  the  Poor  Girl,"  in- 
terpolated Ilagar,  "  when  he  compelled  her  to 
sell  flowera — a  poor,  ragged,  bare-legged  crea- 
ture—" 

"Dressed  as  a  forrin'  princess,  re-gardless 
of  expense!"  interrupted  the  Daddy,  sharply, 
"  varn't  you,  Vite  Rose  ?  Didn't  you  capti- 
wate  the  'art  of  a  yousg  lord,  ven,  instead  o' 
being  ragged  and  bare-legged,  you  vore  a  sky- 
blue,  star-spotted  little  gownd,  fiich  as  fairies 
dances  in  on  moonlight  nights,  a  pair  o'  ra'al 
vite  cotton  stockin's  on  your  bare  legs,  an* 
bronze  kid  slippers,  vich  vern't  sho'fuls,  upon 
your  tiny  feet,  an'  a  wreath  of  roses  uyon  your 
flnpwvybrowf" 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL, 


63 


A  flush  of  scarlet— it  was  a  blush  of  humilia- 
tion—suffused Floret's  face,  and,  with  an  air 
of  vexation,  she  turned  her  face  from  him. 

Hagar  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"This  is  idle  talk—  let  ua  end  it.  I  stand 
here,  O  Tawney  Piince,  upon  my  right.  I 
know  this  disowned  girl's  friends  ;  he  does  not. 
H«  never  can  make  a  market  of  her  secret — 
he  never  shall.  I  can  restore  her  to  them.  I 
may.  If  I  do,  it  will  be  without  asking,  with- 
out accepting — nay,  by  refusing  all  recom- 
pense. Give  her  to  him,  you  doom  her  to 
some  years  of  shatnej  of  mental  agony,  to  ruin 
— nay,  to  utter  destruction  ;  restore  her  to  my 
charge,  and,  at  least,  she  shall  have  her  happi- 
ness and  her  honor  in  her  own  keeping." 

"  Out-talk  my  right,  if  you  can,  Hagar,  'oo- 
man,"  cried  the  Daddy,  in  excited  tones;  "I 
appeal  to  our  laws,  an'  I  call  upon  our  prince 
to  support  them,  as  he  has  svorn  to  do.  I 
stole  the  Vite  Rose  ven  ehe  vos  no  longer 
yourn,  Hagar,  'ooman,  to  control,  and  she  be- 
longs to  me  by  the  unchangeable  laws  o'  our 
community." 

"  Silence,  all !"  cried  the  King. 

Already  the  speeches  of  Hagar  and  the  Dad- 
dy had  created  quite  a  spirit  of  partisanship 
in  the  listeners,  and  a  discussion  in  a  subdued 
tone  had  commenced  when  the  King  uttered 
his  command  to  them  to  be  silent.  They 
obeyed,  and  as  soon  as  every  sound  was  hush- 
ed, he  said : 

"  I  have  heerd  both  sides  ;  Hagar  forfeited, 
I  think,  all  her  right  to  further  control  over 
the  destiny  of  the  Vite  Rose,  ven  she,  as  ehe 
has  acknowledged,  placed  her  to  gain  learnin' 
vith  house-dwellers." 

"  A  course,"  muttered  the  Daddy. 

"  An'  I  thinks,"  continued  the  King,  "  that 
the  Patrico  'stabliehed  a  new  an'  indis- 
pootable  claim  to  her  ven  he  kidnapped  the 
Vite  Rose  on  his  own  account—" 

"A course,"  interpolated  the  Daddy. 

41  Silence  !"  cried  the  King. 

In  a  moment  a  huge  hand  was  placed  over 
Daddy's  mouth,  and  his  voice  became  inau- 
dible. 

The  King  turned  his  eyes  upon  Floret,  who 
said  to  her,  in  a  softer  tone : 

"  Come  nearer  to  me,  Vite  Rose.  You  are 
old  enough  to  rave  a  eay  in  this  matter,  I 
s'pose,  an'  you  have  a  right,  too,  vich  shall  be 
given  to  you." 

^  Floret  stepped  somewhat  timidly  up  to  the 
side  of  Hagar,  and  bent  her  eyes  upon  him. 

She  gave  a  slight  start.  At  his  elbow  stood 
Liper  Leper. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  for  a  moment,  and 
,  then  he  let  them  fall  upon  the  ground. 

She  knew  Liper  Leper's  ways  so  well,  she 
understood  by  that  look  that  he  was  there  to 
prompt  her  how  to  act,  and  that  she  was  not  to 
appear  to  recognize  him. 

She  let  her  eyelids  fall  too. 

"  Now,  Vite  Rose,"  said  the  King,  encourag- 
ingly, "  you  must  answer  my  questions,  an'  an- 
Bwer'em  truly.  Don't  be  afeard  to  speak  out, 
or  to  speak  plain ;  a  good  deal  o'  jour  own 


comfort  vill  depend  upon  vot  you  say  yourself. 
Do  you  know  who  you  are  ?'» 

Floret;  bent  her  head  down,  hurt  and  humil- 
iated. 

"  I  do  net,"  she  murmured,  faintly. 

"  But  you  vill  some  day,"  responded  the 
King,  in  a  soothing  tone,  "  I  dessay  you  vill ; 
but  ain't  you  got  no  idee,  ain't  you  got  DO 
clue,  no  nothin',  to  prove  who  you  are  some 
day,  ven  you  gets  a  chance  o'  havin'  your 
rights?" 

Floret  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  That's  rather  odd,"  he  observed,  reflective- 
ly. "  I've  seen  an'  known  a  good  deal  about 
kidnapped  kinchins,  an'  they've  gen'rally  »ad 
a  mark,  a  strorberree,  or  a  bunch  or'  currants, 
or  a  mouse,  or  a  heervlg,  or  a  lobster,  or  'am 
an'  heggs,  or  summat  as  their  mothers  longed 
for,  or  vos  frighted  at  afore  they  wus  born,  or 
elee  they've  had  a  little  silver  cross,  or  a  goold- 
en  locket,  or  summat  o'  that  kind,  Ain't  you 
got  nothin'  o'  the  sort  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  murmured  Floret,  almost  inau- 
dibly. 

The  King  looked  first  at  Hagar,  and  then  at 
the  Daddy,  and  he  said': 

"  As  both  on  you  claim  her,  I  s'pose  that 
von  or  tother  on  you,  or  both  it  may  be,  have 
got  a  token  vich  the  fam-i-lv  of  the'Vite  Rose 
vill  recognize  ven  they  sees  it." 

They  both  remained  silent. 

At  this  moment,  Floret,  who  had  glanced 
at  Liper  Leper  several  times,  observed  him 
make  a  gesture  to  her.  She  understood  him, 
and  her  heart  beat  rapidly,  but  she  remained 
motionless. 

"  This  is  a  little  orkurd,"  observed  the  King, 
musingly.  "  Fcr  since  you  have  nothing  in 
the  vay  of  a  token  by  which  you  may  be  re- 
cognized by  any  von  who  might  put  in  a  bet- 
ter claim  than  either  Hagar  or  the  Patrico,  I 
must  yield  you  to — " 

Floret,  with  a  sudden  movement,  bared  her 
wrist ;  she  held  before  the  old  man's  eyes  the 
tryphon-shaped  mark  which  Hagar  had 
marked  upon  it  years  back,  and  said,  in  as 
clear  and  firm  a  voice  as  she  could  com- 
mand : 

"Behold  this  symbol!  By  it  I  may  be 
known — I  am  EL  YDAIOTTR!" 

The  King  sprang  to  Ma  feet,  and  threw  up 
his  hands. 

^  Listen  all !"  he  cried,  in  shrill  tones,  and 
with  trembling  excitement.  "The  'nigma  is 
read;  the  stars  speak.  The  claims  of  "Hagar 
the  Castillian  and  the  Patrico  are  swep'  avay 
like  thistle-down  afore  the  vind.  Look  upon 
the  Vite  Rose  as  the  Vite  Rose  no  more.  She 
is  EL  YDAIOUR,  the  wandaer  /" 

"  EL  YDAIOUR,  the  WANDERER  !"  echoed  the 
men  and  the  women,  with  strange  wonder  and 
commotion.  . 

The  King  waved  his  hand  for  silence. 

"  The  child  is  from  the  land  of  the  friend- 
less, from  the  roofless  shed  of  the  fatherless, 
the  motherless,  the  kinless,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  She  has  no  roof-tree  but  the  sky,  no  bed  but 
the  green,  grassy  turf.  She  has  no  tribe 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


among  nations.  She  has  no  name  among  the 
named ;  ehe  has  no  creed  among  the  many 
creeds ;  no  God  but  the  one,  true,  universal 
God — the  sun-god.  She  is  a  stranger,  even 
among  the  tribe  of  Ham.  As  a  'uman  being, 
she  has  no  rights — save  one  that  is  sacred  to 
her,  and  to  be  sacredly  observed  by  us— her 
right  is  HOSPITALITY  !" 

A  responsive  and  approving  shout  was  sim- 
ultaneously raised  among  the  gipsies,  whoex- 
•itedly  edged  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  King ; 
narrowing,  each  moment,  the  already  limited 
circle. 

«•  We  will  give  her  salt ;  we  will  eat  salt 
with  her,"  cried  the  King. 

Another  shout  of  approval  responded  to  his 
declaration. 

"  From  this  moment  EL  YDAIOUR  is  free  to 
us,  free  with  UB,  free  from  us.  Her  claim 
overrules  all  others  ;  she  commands  from  us 
shelter  and  sustenance ;  help  in  her  distress, 
assistance  of  the  strong  arm  when  she  needs 
it,  and  she  MUST  HAVE  IT." 

"She  shall  have  it,"  cried  the  men  and 
women  surrounding,  mingling  their  voices  to- 
gether. 

"  The  symbol  on  her  wrist  is  a  token  to 
which  we  all  bow,"  continued  the  King, 
hoarsely ;  "  it  is  one  to  which  Hagar  the  Cas- 
tillian,  and  Carkas  the  Patrico,  must  bend." 

'•They  must!"  cried  the  gipsies,  sternly, 
and  with  what  seemed  to  be  one  voice. 

The  King  turned  te  Floret,  who  had  looked 
upon  the  whole  of  this  extraordinary  incident 
with  a  species  of  trembling  wonder. 

"EL  YDAIOUR!"  he  exclaimed,  emphatical- 
ly ;  "  fear  no  more.  Eveiy  man  here  is  your 
protector ;  every  woman  your  servant  and 
your  friend  while  you  remain  among  us.  You 
may  eat,  drink,  and  depart  in  peace.  You  vill 
stay  so  long  as  you  likes,  you  leave  us  venyou 
vish,  and  ven  you  goes  your  vay,  neether 
Hagar  nor  the  Patrico  dare  to  foller  you,  or 
touch  you ;  if  they  do,  they  vill  incur  the 
gipsy  curse  ;  eyes  vill  flash  at  'em,  ^  tongues 
hoot  at  an'  scorn  'em,  hands  turn  against  'em, 
feet  spurn  '«m — they  vill  be  hunted  and  har- 
ried, lashed  and  stoned,  flogged  and  briered, 
and,  at  the  last  'our  of  their  life,  no  sun  shall 
vatch  them  die,  no  sun  see  them  live,  no  earth 
shall  receive  their  bodies,  but  they  shall  hang 
and  rot,  bit  by  bit,  day  by  day,  year  by  year, 
from  the  deadly  vite  branches  of  a  vithered, 
blight  smitten  tree,  the  gipsy's  curse  clinging 
to  them,  so  long  as  von  bone  of  their  frail  car- 
cases is  left  visible  to  the  eye  of  man,  or  even 
a  bird.  I  have  spoken.  EL  YDAIOUR,  move 
v«re  you  vill,  the  Patrico  and  Hagar  the  Cas- 
tilian  shall  not  leave  us,  until  you  are  far  from 
this,  an'  vere  you  may  vish  to  be.  Break  up 
all?" 

As  he  concluded,  he  descended  from  his 
turf-covered  throne,  and  he  moved  slowly 
away  toward  a  small  colony  of  tents  at  no 
great  distance. 

At  the  same  moment,  both  Hagar  and  the 
Daddy  made  a  movement  toward  Floret.  The 
two  gipsies  who  had  the  Daddy  in  their  cus- 


tody accompanied  him,  however,  and  one  oi 
them  whispered  to  him : 

"  Vere's  the  pisoned knife— give  it  to  me  ?" 

Tho  Daddy  mechanically  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket,  and  passed  it  to  nim  without  an  ob- 
jection or  a  word  of  remonstrance.  The  gipsy 
glanced  at  it,  and  put  it  cautiously  in  an  inner 
pocket  in  the  breast  of  his  coat. 

Floret,  as  she  saw  both  Hagar  and  the  Dad- 
dy approach  her,  gave  an  alarmed  look  at 
Liper  Leper,  who  had  remained  whsre  he  stood 
when  he  made  the  sign  which  had  proved  so 
serviceable  to  her.  In  a  moment  he  waa  at 
her  side,  and  said: 

"You  have  no  cause  for  fear,  Floret;  you 
are  now  even  more  powerful  here  than  the  King 
himself." 

"Ay!"  exclaimed  Hagar,  bitterly,  as  she 
overheard  the  last  words;  "more  powerful 
than  I,  who  hold  your  happiness  in  my  keep- 
ing. I  thought  not,  when  I  marked  that  sym- 
bol on  your  wrist,  so  that  I  alone  might  know 
you  when  a  woman  grown,  that  it  would  rob 
me  wholly  of  the  power  of  injuring  or  of  serv- 
ing you.  Henceforth  our  destinies,  still  inter- 
woven, must  move  on  in  an  uncontrolled 
sphere ;  I  dare  not  attempt  to  further  control 
you ;  I  cease  to  take  any  active  interest  in 
your  fate.  You  are  from  this  hour  as  free  from 
my  influence  as  though  you  had  never  known 
me,  or  as  though  I  had  never  been  born."  j 

She,  as  the  last  word  quitted  her  lips,  turn- 
ed and  pointed  with  a  stern  gesture  to  the 
Daddy.  J 

"  But  you  are  also  absolved  from  his  power!" 
she  exclaimed,  displaying  her  white  teeth  in 
the  rancor  with  which  she  spoke.  "You 
have  drawn  his  fangs,  hi)  claws ;  his  sordid 
avarice  can  never  again  reach  you— his  Jevil- 
ish  malignity  harm  you.  He  has  threatened 
you  with  death  from  a  poisoned  weapon — he 
<lare  not  from  this  moment  touch  you,  even  in 
play,  with  a  feather.  H«  IP  ly  not  even  speak 
to  you,  unless  you  will  it— -mark  me,  unless  it 
be  with  your  will,  or  at  your  wish.  And  this 
privilege  extends  to  me  as  to  him.  If  it  is 
your  wish  to  speak  to  me,  I  will  speak  with  you 
aloEe.  I  will  lift  the  seals  from  my  lips,  I  will , 
tell  you  who  you  are  and  what  you  are,  if  you ' 
dare  to  hear  it.  I  have  no  longer  any  motive  , 
in  keeping  hidden  from  you  that  which  you: 
must  some  day  know  ;  and  I  will,  therefore,  if 
you  desire  it,  at  once  disclose  to  you  all  I  know ' 
concerning  your  secret  history,  and  then— bid 
you  farewell  forever.'' 

"  O,  I  desire  most  earnestly  to  learn  all  I 
can  of  my  true  history !"  exclaimed  Floret, 
anxiously.  "  I  will  speak  with  you  alone  now, 
at  this  moment,  and  I  entreat  you  to  keep 
nothing  hidden  from  me  1" 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  listen  to  that  which 
you  may  hereafter  wish,  from  the  depths  of  a 
broken  heart,  had  never  fallen  upon  your  ears  ?" 
asked  Hagar,  gravely. 

"  I  am  prepared  for  every  consequence," 
cried  Floret,  eagerly.  "  No  anguish,  no  tor- 
ture can  equal  that  which  my  absolute  ignor- 
.ance  of  who  and  what  I  am  hourly  inflict? 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  TEE  POOR  GIRL." 


€5 


npon  my  heart."  *;  Follow  me  to  try  tent,  atd 
you  shall  know  all,"  rfspordedll'igur. 

She  turned  and  moved  slowly  a  17  *y.  Flortt 
looked  at  Liper  Leper.  lie  motioned  Ler  to 
follow  Hagar,  and  she  moved  ftw*y  in  obedi 
encetobissign. 

The  Diddy,  however,  stretched  out  his  arras 
to  her,  and  cried,  hoarsely  : 

"  Yite  Rose  -Vi — Vite  Rose,  don't  leave  me 
—don't  go  ay  ay  vith  Hagar,  don't— you  ^ill 
rob  me— of  'all — of— -all— all  my — goold — my 
goold— " 

Toe  worda  seemed  to  die  in  his  throat — his 
head  rolled  horribly  from  eide  to  side,  and  he 
fell  forward  upon  the  grocnd  in  a  fit. 

CHAPTER  XVT 
"  0  !  'Hs  not,  Hinda,  in  the  power 
Of  Fanc.v  's  moat  terrific  loach 
To  paint  tby  paogs  in  that  dread  hour — 

Tfcy  fcilent  apooy — 'twas  snch 
As  tfcose  if  ho  let  1  could  paint  too  well, 
Bat  none  t'er  felt  at.d  lived  to  ttll ! 
'Twas  cot  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lore  spirit  crush'd  by  fite, 
W^en,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread, 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart- 
When,  though  the  inmate,  Hope,  be  dead, 

Her  ghosteuil  haunts  the  moldeting  heart. 
No — pleasures,  hopes,  affections  gone, 
The  wretch  may  bear  and  jet  live  on, 
Like  things  wi  hin  tho  cold  rock  found, 
Alive  whrn  all's  congtal'd  around  ; 
But  theie'a  a  black  repose  in  this, 
A  calm  stagnation,  that  were  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain 
2fow  felt  through  ail  her  breast  and  brain— 
From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching 
The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking."— MGOBE. 
As  Hagar  reached  her  tent,  her  eyes  fei  1 
tipon  a  middle-aged  man,  reclining  upon  the 
sward  close  to  it,  who  had  a  swarthy  complex- 
ion, handsome  features,  and  long,  straggling, 
glosey  black  hair.    He  was  picture equtly  at- 
tired ;  and,  though  cot  a  model  of  cleanliness, 
either  in  skin  or  garb,  he  tras  yet  not  unat- 
trative  in  his  appearance.    He  was  smoking  a 
black  clay  pipe,  and  appeared  to  be  buried  in 
a  fit  of  profound  abstraction. 
1     The  brow  of  Hagar  lowered  a|  she  gazed 
upon  him,  and  she  stopped  short  abruptly. 
She  turned  back,  said  a  lew  concise  words  in 
Spanish  to  the  aged  woman,  Elcia,  who  ac- 
companied her,  and  striking  off  in  a  direction 
whicLt  led  into  a  thickly-wooded  part  of  the 
hill,  she  motioned  to  Floret  to  follow  her. 
•     Elcia,  the  Castilian,  by  her  directions,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  man  whom  Hagar  bad  evidently 
avoided,  and  Floret,  whose    mind  was   too 
much  occupied  by  conjectures  relative  to  the 
revelations  ehe  expected  immediately  to  hear 
to  care  whither  she  was  conducted,  followed 
Hagar  into  the  wood. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  proceed  far  to  ob- 
tain both  seclusion  and  security  from  listener?, 
and  Hagar  paused  in  a  wild,  gloomy,  narrow 
copee,  until  Floret  reached  her.  Tbea,  cast- 
ing her  e^es  slowly  round  her,  she  said  : 

"  We  will  rest  here.  What  I  have  to  reveal, 
and  jou  to  hear,  may  now  be  ppoken  unre- 
servedly. In  this  spot  there  will  be  no  other 
eyes  than  our  own  to  watch  us — no  other 
ears  than  ours  to  catch  up  our  words." 


"  Be  it  as  you  tbink  besf,"  returned  Floret ; 
4i  I  am  in  your  hands,  and  I  have  no  choice." 
'•  You  have  the  choice  of  declining  to  bear 
what;  I  am  able,  and  what  I  am  ready  to  com- 
mnnicate  to  jou,"  rejoined  Hagar,  gazing  fix- 
ed iy  at  her. 

FJoret  rai-ed  her  hea3,  and  turned  her 
merble-hued  face  to  Hagar.  She  drew  bereelf 
up  eomewhat  proudly,  and  answered  firmly  : 

"  No  ;  I  h*ve  noS  even  that  choice.  The 
deeire  to  know  who  I  em,  from  whence 
sprung— wherefore  I  sheuld  be  eurrornded  by 
mjetmes  which  are  to  rce  iacomprehf  ntible— - 
why  I  am  not  only  an  outcast,  but  that  indi- 
viduals, to  whom  I  cannot  possibly  be  ailied 
by  any  lies  of  affinity,  should  strive  to  exer- 
cise a  powtr  over  rce — is  like  a  raging  ftver- 
thirst,  which  would  force  me  to  driikYrom  a 
chalice,  although  I  were  forewarned  that  the 
liquor  it  contained  was  poison." 

J'lt  is  a  poisoned  cbaiiee  only  which  I  can 
offer,"  returned  Hagar,  with  slow  emthaeia. 
"  Will  you  drink  from  it  ?" 

"  I  vill  drain  ii,  though  it  were  all  dregs,'' 
responded  Floret,  readily. 

'•It  is  all  dregs,"  replied  Hagar,  sharply; 
"  bitter,  noisome  dregs.  Small  as  are  your 
chances  for  future  happiness,  it  will  be  bttte-, 
perhaps,  for  you  to  rest  with  resignation  be- 
neath the  murky  vail  which  covers  jou,  than 
to  pu*i  forth  even  a  finger  to  lift  it." 

"  You  are  speaking  still  in  enigmas  to  me !" 
exclaimed  Floret,  impatiently.  "  What  are 
you  ?  What  do  you  know  me  ?  Tour  parh  ia 
such  as  I  have  read, the  Spanish  Gitani  wears  ; 
your  language,  your  marner  ia  not  that  of  a 
gipey.  In  what  way  are  you  connected  Tvish 
me?  Speak,  I  implore  you — epe?k  to  me  in 
the  plainebt  ternis.  What  I  hf.ve  to  learn 
purely  needs  no  euch  preparation  as  you  are 
bestowing  upon  it." 

"  I  would  spare  your  feelings  as  much  aa  I 
can,"  observed  Hagar,  calmly. 

"But  you  are  toituring  them!"  persisted 
Floret,  agitatedly.  «'  If  it  be  in  your  power  to 
tell  me  who  I  am,  what  I  em,  and  to  what  f 
have  to  look  forward  in  the  future,  have  mercy 
upon  me,  and  tell  me  at  occe!  My  feelings 
have  not  hitherto  met  with  such  conpidemte 
attention  with  you  or  any  one,  save  Minima 
Atten — such  aixious  interest  has  not  been 
hitherto  exhibited  in  my  welfare, that ycu reed 
hesitate  now  to  ccmrnunicate  to  me,  briefly, 
whatever  you  may  know,  even  though  it  way 
cost  me  eonjte  bitter  pangs." 
Hagar  waved  her  hand. 
"I  have  the  interests  and  the  secrets  of 
others  in  my  custody,  es  well  ss  yoms,"  ehe 
replied.  "  You  must  hear  your  etory  as  I 
think  it  expedient  to  tell  it,  or  not  at  til." 

"  I  am  silent!"  ejaculate,!  Floret,  in  a  tone  of 
forced  resignation. 

"I  have" already  spoken  to  you  of  love," 
pursued  Hagar,  wich  a  thouerbtfn}  espect,  end 
with  her  large,  resplendent  black  er€s fastened 
abstractedly  upon  the  f  reaey  Hllocko  before 
her.  "Ifc  is  a  sentiment—  a  passion— a  mad- 
ness—it recks  little  what ;  "  but  it  is  ft  feeling 


IIAGAR  LOT ; 


of  which  yoa  can  at  pre«ent  fcnow  colt  ing.  I 
hope  you  Lever  may.  You  muet  h*ve  re*d  cf 
its  efl'ttCfB  in  bocks;  and  you  mey,  fa  your 
young  Leart,  find  eomo  paliia'ive  <xcu*e  for 
those  who,  having  endured  its  wildest  emo 
tione,  Live  been  overpowered  by  them — and 
have  fallen." 

Ilagar  crew  a  deep  breath,  and  then  went 
on: 

"Years  past,  a  young  Count  of  Spain,  rid- 
ing through  a  wood  in  Andalusia,  was  ebot  by 
en  unseen  hair'.  The  bullet  brought  him  to 
the  ground,  and  laid  him  eenetkea  there.  A 
young  fcirl,  not  older  than  yourself,  beard  the 
shot,  the  wild  cry  of  agony  which  burst  from 
the  lips  of  the  woundtd  man,  the  clattering  of 
the  horse's  feet  aa  he  Hid  fcffiighlertly  down 
tbe  ? lade,  and  f  be  hastened  to  the  f  pet  from 
whence  the  shriek  of  egory  arose.  There, 
Beneelees,  t-he  found  stretched  the  Heeding 
body  of  the  youthful  cavali«r.  She  was  a 
Gitita,  a  daughter  of  the  Cage's— one  of  the 
tribe  it  was  whose  pistol-shot  had  leveled  tbe 
poor  jouth  to  tbe  ground.  But  Ler  father  was 
a  Count  of  tbe  C  iiej,  and  be  loved  his  child 
better  than  bis  life.  She  summoned  him  to 
her  fide,  and  by  bis  aid  the  wounded  cavalier 
was  borce  to  a  lent,  and  there  his  hurt  was  ex- 
amined. 1 5  was  not  f  itsl ;  tbe  lead  h%d  struck 
no  vital  part,  but  he  had  lost  much  blood,  and 
Was  too  weak  to  be  moved  after  bia  wound  was 
dree ?ed.  He  did  not  quit;  the  tent  or  the  wood 
for  mor.tts  after  that  event. 

**  The  girl,  for  the  period  I  have  mentioned, 
was  alcnott  bia  sole  attendant.  Bbe  smoothed 
his  pillow-;  she  banded  him  the  cooling  drinks 
necessary  to  subdue  bia  malady,  and  tbe 
fragrant  fruits  to  ncoisten  Lia  parched  lips; 
Bbe  fcmilt  d  upcn  tim  to  cheer  him  in  his  lone- 
liness; sang  to  him,  danced  to  him  to  the  mu- 
sic of  her  guitar,  end  exhausted  fall  the  pretty 
arts  of  which  tbe  was  mi' tress,  to  prevent  bis 
xnin  1  f  inking  into  astate  of  dejected  dolor  dur- 
ing bid  enfeebled  state. 

*'  Sie  was  rewarded  by  his  recovery,  she  was 
reward*  d  with  his  love,  she  was  rewarded  with 
his  hand — for  be  married  ter,  and  l.ved  with 
her  end  with  ber  people,  the  Ca'e*,  for  a  year. 
At  tbe  expiration  of  that  j  ear,  a  child  was  born 
to  them.  ID  was  a  girl.  The  Count  loved  ii 
as  he  loved  its  mother,  passionately  ;  and  he 
resolved  that  tbe  dweller  of  tbe  woods,  the 
mountain  fastnesses,  the  pathless  forests,  and 
at  times  tbe  vne  clad  suburbs  of  some  rf 
Spain's  fairest  cuies,  should  hfave  a  palace  for 
a  home,  highly  cultivated  estates  for  ber  w*n- 
dcrirjfcs  ;  tnd,  instead  of  tie  Gitan',  La  Ecan- 
tadeVa,  sbe  should  become  Senora  DOHA  de 
Qu  xada  de  Vtlaeco  Countees  de  Orsoi  o,  and 
bwdaugb'er  be  converted  from  La  Gitani  to 
S.-n'  TiraDc-ua  Angelica deQiixada  do  Yelasoo 
de  Oreono. 

*•  lu  u  e  fulfillment  of  Ms  intension,  fce  pre- 
sented birr  self  before  bis  father,  the  bead  and 
the  baugbtie^t  member  of  OBO  of  tbe  cldett 
farail^es  of  Castile.  Hi  was  received  with 
great  joy  aid  much  rejoicing.  In  tbe  f  aline  s 
pf  hw  Heart,  and  the  excitement  of  bia  delight 


at  b's  sfTec'ionate  rfce  pf»on,  he  pave  to  bia 
f  >mily  u  history  of  his  acch'en*.  an  i  ir.«  re^u't. 
Iltfppoke  in  plowing  termi  of  hisb-aui'iil 
youcg  wifoard  Lii  beloved  cl  ild,  eud  u«  he 
i  jcrettped  in  enthuaia^m,  Le  euddebly  perceived 
'•is  hfHriis  eubtirir>£  into  a  cVld  eiiecco 
Wt-cn  be  b-id  concluded,  tkey  were  frcztn  into 
figures  cf  iee. 

•'  He  win  u  mipor,  and  bis  proud  fatbor  made 
ebort  work  cf  ibe  matter.  By  the  laws  of 
8puin  Le  was  unable  to  contrt-c1;  a  marriage 
without  bis  parent's  consent  —  be  was  unav.le 
to  con'rac**  a  mBrriace  with  ore  who  was  with- 
out tbe  pale<  fhisCou.ch.  The  naniagewas 
at  cnce  atntlled,  as  though  ii  hid  i  evt  r  teen. 
The  Count  was  throwa  in^o  prison  by  his 
father,  because  beiebelled  viih  frintic  iierc«- 
ne-s  and  dt  spirit  ion  agbiost  Lisuuthonty,a£.d 
aaaicst  hia  Gispoeition  of  i  ff  Jra  ;  eiid  n'\  roop 
cf  drjgoora  was  dispatched  to  diivetia  un- 
bapfy  wife—  alas!  wife  no  l.rg^r—  wi  h  Ler 
offrtprincr,  cut  of  Castile,  and,  through  tbe  Duke 
de  Oreono's  great  influence,  even  out  cf  the 
kingdom  cf  Spain. 

"  Tbe  merci!e?s  fither  was  determined  that 
the  sangre  azul,  tbe  *  blue  blood'  wtrch  flowed 
in  bis  veils,  thould  not  b«  conteminftted  by 
ary  taint  drawn  from  one  cf  a  tribe  <  f  Eastern 
origin,  and  he  effected  bia  ovj^ci.  He  separa- 
ted tbe  biiefly  bappy  psir  forever  on  earth. 

"  El  Corde  Orsono  lost  Lia  life  in  leaping 
from  Lia  prison  window  into  a  moat  beneath 
it,  in  en  attempt  to  escape,  and  hia  love  —  alee  ! 
bis  wife  EO  longer  —  LaEticantadera,  died  of  a 
broken  heart,  after  the  lid  ID  go  convened  toiler 
—  aluH  !  too  soon  communicated  to  htr. 

4<  Now,  Floret,  mtuk  me  !  Ihe  Con<?6  Orso- 
no was  myfiihtr,  Li  Encan?accra  waa  my 
mother.  Whnt  cm  I?  DJ  ytu  comprthend 
me,  girl?  Wbat  posuion  do  I  hold  in  the 
world?  Answer  toe!'' 

Fluret  gazed  upon  ber  with  a  species  of  ter 
ror,  but  remained  silent. 

Hngar'aejea  f?  ashed  wi'h  a  fiery  brilliancy 
as  sKc  lepeated  her  question. 

"Waat  em*I  in  tb3  ejes  cf  the  Church? 
What  am  I  in  the  ejea  of  the  Jaw?  "What  am 
I  ia  the  estimation  of  that  huge  hypocrisy, 
'society?'  A  pariah!  —  an  outci&t!  —  a  name- 
less creature  of  shame!  Do  jou  uncei  stand 
me  now,  Floret?" 

Floret  compressed  her  hands  ;  a  feeling  of 
dntaess  stsle  over  ber. 

"  I  cannot  tee  tbat  you  are  an  object  of  ho> 
milia'ion,"  ebe  eaid,  f<umly  ;  *•  for  j  our  father 
acd  your  mother  were  married,  and  by  a 
ehujr  h  cereoioiial,!  presume  ?'' 


**  Toey  were,"  rejoiced  Ilagar,  quickly. 
"The  words  invoked  by  the  pne.-t  who  united 
them  were  —  'Thcte  wnotn  God  has  joined  let 
EO  man  put  asunder!  But  nnndid  puh  them 
asuncer;  Le  made  their  ma-riage-ceremcny  a 
mockery,  and  cf  me  a  creiture  cf  shame  —  a 
thing  of  ibe  world,  not  legitimate!  I  cannot 
inberit—  I  cannot  claim  tte  l*w's  protec  ion! 
I  have  norigbts—  I,  the  daugofcr  cf  aCount 
cf  Spain,  am  tbat  humiliated  object  of  ccntu- 
mehoua  reproach,  a—  ray  throat  swell*  at  the 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOfc  GIRL. 


ward— I  arn  in  the  eyes  of  the  law — 
a  bastard  T' 

836  grraaed  as  she  forced  the  words  out 
au-.l  \  hick  drops  of  perspiration  stood  upon  her 
brow. 

Floret,  as  if  a  presentment  of  tbe  revelation 
which  was  to  fallow  this  painful  history  t  tele 
over  Ler  mind,  feli  a  strange  numbness  about 
the  heart,  and  a  ringing  ia  the  ears  which 
made  it  a  most  difficult  for  her  to  bear  distinct- 
ly Hagar's  words.  She  could  not  true*  ter self 
toutttr  a  word.  She  stood  motioiksp,  and 
gazed  kteudfistly,  wonderingJy,  and  with  a  very 
pained  expreesion,  at  ter  Eingular  companion. 

At  length,  Ilagar,  somewhat  recovering  her 
composure,  said  to  her : 

'•  I  now  address  myself,  Floret,  to  your  past. 
I  have  told  yen  that  I  would  elucidate  it  by  an 
illustration.  I  have  givea  you  one — you  can 
apply  it." 

"No!  nol  no!"  half- shrieked  the  distressed 
girl,  with  a  horrified  look. 

*•  Nay,  you  must  have  the  facts,  then."  re- 
joined Ilagar,  turning  her  face  away  from  her 
ghasiJy  countenance.  It  seemed  as  if  she  was 
unable  to  witnees  unmoved  the  wild  and  des- 
perate gasping*  for  breath  with  which  Floret 
listened  to  words,  every  one  of  which  fell  blis- 
tering upon  her  heart  like  drops  of  molten 
lead.  "  You  entreated  me  to  conceal  nothing 
from  you— you  shall  know  all.  At  least,  all 
that  is  essential  for  you  to  know.  For  wh&t 
can  is  matter  to  you  how  or  where  your  par- 
ents met,  it  will  suffice,  alas !  for  you  that  they 
did  meet.  At  that  fated  hour  "j  our  mother 
waa  of  your  age,  no  more,  and  as  like  you  in 
feature  and  in  form  as  it  may  be  possible  for 
twin  sisters  to  be ;  with  this  <Meren  ce  only,  that 
she  was  reared  in  pampered  luxury,  you  in 
poverty  and  wretchedness ;  and  she,  therefore, 
possessed  outwardly  all  the  superiority  of  ap- 
pearance and  carriage  which  euch  advantages 
would  give  her.  She  wae,  however,  ia  temper 
imperious,  Belf-willed,  impatient  of  conteJ,  and 
needed  a  mother's  most  anxious  and  solicitous 
care,  and  unhappily  failed  to  receive  it.  At 
the  very  moment  she  should  have  been  fenced 
round  with  her  mother's  discrimiraiion,  judg- 
ment, and  affectionate  counsel,  she  met — and 
in  secret — one  whose  form  was  framed  to  make 
a  joucg  girl's  hea>t  leap  out  of  her  own  keep- 
ing into  his — one  capable  of  captivating  her 
young  and  innecent  imagination,  and  who  hes- 
itated not;  to  do  it — one  *ho,  having  extorted 
her  heart  from  her,  had  not  oce  to  give  in  re- 
turn. No  doubt,  the  paesion  which  thus  sprung 
iptD  existence  was,  while  it  lasted,  a  sweet  de 
lirium — a  term  of  happy  infatuation.  But  the 
awakening  came.  She  who  had  slumbered  the 
most  uneuspiciouely,  found  the  return  to  con- 
sciousness a  process  01  unmitigated  horror. 
She  awoke  to  the  discovery  that  she  had  been 
made  the  dupe  of  an  insincere,  a  hearlesa  vil- 
lain ;  that  the  heart  she  had  yearned  for— for 
which  ehe  had  wholly  and  completely  resigrcd 
herself—bad  not  been  surrendered  t  j  her ;  nay, 
that  the  had  loved  a  creature  with  no  hesrt. 
She  awoke  to  this  discovery,  as  I  have  paid. 


f  "om  one  short  dream  of  bliss  ;  but  sire  awoke, 
also,  to  tte  horror  that  she — joung,  fair,  of 
pitriciftu  e'escect — poseeaatd,  ia  lieu  of  this 
he*rt— Gkeat  Spirit!— a  child  I1' 

Ilagar  paused  as,  with  a  ecatbirg  empha'is, 
the  uttered  t'icse  teriible  words,  and  ehe  gazed 
earnestly  en  Floret. 

Tbe  la*.ter  was  standing  as  before,  pale  and 
motionless,  like  a  joung  tree  that  bad  been 
struck  by  a  lightning- shaft,  and  withered. 

Etr  face  was  absolutely  colorless  ;  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  pallid,  jellow  face  of  Ha- 
gar;  her  li^s  were  apart,  and  through  them 
her  breath  went  and  came  wi'.h  agonizing  diffi- 
culty; but  not  a  sound  escaped  them,  not  a 
muscle  in  her  frame  quivered,  nor  did  her  eye- 
lids tremble ;  but  she  gazed  at  Hagar  with  a 
eearctting,  settled,  penetrating  scrutiny,  which 
she  did  not,  while  she  was  ppeukiog  to" her,  for , 
a  moment  avert.  , 

The  steadfastness  of  her  look  slightly  dis- 
concerted the  gippy ;  but  sbe  turm  d  Ler  bhck 
ejea  upon  the  turf,  and,  as  if  unaffected  by  it, 
proc°eded  with  her  harrowing  communication. 

"The  child  of  whom  I  have  spoken,"  ehe 
said,  in  her  usual  low,  grave  tone,  "  waa 
brought  into  life  in  secret — it  waa  conveyed 
away  in  secret  to  an  obscure  place,  and  in- 
trusted to  people  who  had  no  idea,  and  wera 
not  likely  to  have  any  conception  cf  its  par- 
ents. It  was  a  thing  without  a  name ;  its  lot 
was  one  yet  mere  degraded  than  my  own — not 
even  the  mockery  of  a  ceremony  was  gone 
through  wi:b,  which  might  have  consecrated 
its  birth.  It  was  tbe  offspring  cf  guilt,  end  ia 
the  firct  moment  of  its  unhappy  exisierce  it 
became  an  object  cf  eharce. 
"Poor  little  i  nnocent,  miserable,  nameless 
fcject!  it  was  born  to  mkfortune.born  to  trial 
and  trouble,  born  to  be  itself  ever  wretched, 
and  to  be  the  cause  cf  misery  to  others,  ay, 
even  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  best  loved  it! 
Its  father— well,  we  will  not  speak  of  him,  save 
to  say,  that  ere  it  had  been  born  a  twelve- 
month, ie  married  a  young  lady  of  fair  fame 
end  much  wealth.  Ita  mother  very  quickly 
afterward  gave  her  hand  in  marriage  to  cne  of 
the  wealthiest  and  haughtiest  peers  of  this 
great  kingdom.  She  ignored  the  existence  of 
her  child ;  but  married  that  proud  Lord  in  her 
maiden  rame  as  a  young,  innocent  girl,  of  un- 
blemished reputation — married  him  as  one  en- 
titled honestly  to  wear  her  father's  name,  until 
she  changed  it  for  that  of  the  illustrious  Lord 
who  made  her  his  Marchionesa. 

"  Tbe  offending  pair  moved  on  each  other  in 
their  high  sphere,  neither  waeting  a  thought 
upon  the  unhappy  proof  of  thtir  guilfc ;  but 
neicher  winning  a  moment's  happiness  out  of 
the  course  they  had  each  laken,  in  the  expecta- 
ticn  of  securing  tbe  const  ant  enjoyment  of  hu- 
man pleasure!  The  child  proceeded  on  its 
des'ky.  A  young  girl,  who  had  been  reared 
with  tbe  mother  of  tbe  babe,  and  who  loved 
her  truly  end  tenderly,  took  charge  of  the  off- 
spring— intending,  no  doubt,  to  take  the  place 
of  the  parents  who  had  so  barbarously  desert- 
ed it ;  but  tho  child,  in  the  fulfillment  of  ita 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


iwtiny,  brought  only  woe  to  this  unhappy 
girl.  Her  lover,  to  whom  she  refused  to  dis- 
«k»e  the  poor  child's  secret,  taxed  her  with 
being  its  einful  mother.  Poor  girl !  the  result 
of  that  bitter  quarrel  was,  that  one  morning 
poor  Fannv  Shelley  was  found  drowneo-~mur- 
dered,  too^-in  a  deep  brook  near  Beachbor- 
•njzh-" 

yioret  tried  to  scream — to  shriek— but  no 
•cmd  came  from  her  lips.  She  gasped,  she 
panted,  and  struggled  for  breath,  in  a  manner 
terrible  to  witness. 

Hinging  in  her  brain  were  words,  which  had 
•oddenly  come  back  to  her  with  dreadful 
•Jaree. 

They  were  these : 

uGod  bless  poor  Grandmamma  Fanny!" 

She  writhed  and  twisted  with  the  destroying 
agony  of  the  inward  emotion  wiiich  was  con- 
Taking  her.  At  length,  two  or  three  low, 
Ittarse  sobs  burat  from  her  lips,  and  she  said, 
interrogatively,  in  a  tone  which  almost  con- 
gealed the  blood  of  Hagar  in  her  veins  : 

11 1— I  am  that  child '?" 

*  You  are !"  returned  Hagar,  in  a  voice  as 
3u»ree  as  her  own. 

J/loret  tossed  her  hands  wildly  above  her 
Itad,  uttered  a  cry  cf  agony,  a  prolonged  wail- 
vag,  anguished,  despairing  cry,  and  fell  lifeless 
vpon  the  cold,  rank  grass. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
91  Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of  the 


JBat  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  that 

whispered  '  Despair  not!' 
Thus  did  that  poor  soul  wander  in  want  and  cheer- 

less discomfort, 
Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns  of 

existence. 
l*fc  me  essay,  0  Muse  I  to  follow  the  wanderer's  foot- 

steps." —  EVAKflEUKI. 

It  was  long  before  Floret  could  be  said  to 
ifce  sufficiently  recovered  to  comprehend  all 
£hat  had  transpired  ;  but  Hagar,  with  a  curi- 
•QS  ferocity  which  was  actually  not  intended 
te>  be  such,  compelled  her  to  recall  the  lead- 
jag  features  of  the  disclosures  which  she  had 
made,  in  order  that  they  might  together  ex- 
^imsfc  the  subject. 

"  For,"  continued  the  latter,  "  it  is  improb- 
j&le,  after  we  have  parted  to-day  —  I  had  al- 
aaost  said  impossible,  but  nothing  is  impossi- 
ble, you  may  yet  discover  even  that  —  that  we 
should  meet  again.  You  have  yourself  de- 
prived me  of  the  power  of  even  serving  you. 
You  have  appealed  to  our  Tawney  Prince  to 
protect  you  ;  he  has  done  so  by  withdrawing 
irem  both  myself  and  the  Daddy  the  power 
;  cf  interfering  in  any  fashion  in  your  interests. 
After  you  are  on  your  way  to  the  great  capi- 
\  tod,  to  which  you  are  directing  your  steps, 
?  feoth  he  and  I  will  have  to  undergo  a  ceremocy 
which  will  withdraw  from  your  future  faie 
all  interposition  either  of  hid  or  mine.  Now, 
jemembering  all  that  I  have  communicated  to 
reflecting  what  you  are  —  what  you  know 
be—have  you  aught  further  to  ask 


who  had  stood  crouching  and  tremb- 
ling, with  head  bowed  like  one  stricken  with  a 
palsy,  now  slowly  raised  her  form  erect,  and 
took  two  or  three  paces  backward  and  for- 
ward upon  the  turf.  She  passed  her  thin 
hands  over  her  pinched  temples,  ehe  pressed 
her  attenuated  fingers  upon  her  pinked  eye- 
lids, as  if  to  press  the  light  out  from  her  aching 
ejes.  Sue  drew  a  deep  breath,  then  pausing, 
she  halted  before  Higar,  and  with  a  firmness 
of  demeanor  for  which  she  was  not  prepared, 
she  said,  in  a  low,  hard  tone  : 

"  Tell  me  the  name  of  the — the  woman  whom 
you  have  said  is  my  mother,  and  a  marchion- 
ess— " 

Hagar,  though  a  little  startled,  turned  her 
brilliant  dark  eyes  upon  Floret's,  and  gazed 
into  them  searchiogly.  Floret  bere  her  glit- 
tering, steadfast  examination,  without  waver- 
ing. 

"  Coupled  with  iV  said  Hagar,  slowly, 
with  a  slight  scornful  expression  upon  her  lip, 
"  the  name  of  him  who  is  your  father,  and  an 
earl." 

If  Floret's  cheek  could  then  have  cast  a 
white  reflection  upon  unsullied  enow,  those 
words  would  have  helped  to  make  it  even  jet 
whiter ;  siiil  they  did  not  strike  her  down,  nor 
did  she  permit  them  to  compel  her  to  give  any 
outward  sign  of  the  almost  unendurable  in- 
ward agony  which  they  occasioced  her. 

She  only  said : 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it — to  know  it." 

"  Not  that  you  may  curse  it,"  exclaimed 
Hagar,  with  passionate  bitterness — hissing 
the  words,  indeed— throngh  her  closed  teeth. 

*'  The  name  of  my  mother.  I  ask  only  that?" 
rejoined  Floret,  speaking  with  forced  calm- 
ness, and  almost  closed  eyelids. 

E^ar  regarded  her  attentively. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  for  that  aloae?"  she  in- 
quired, somewhat  earnestly. 

"  If  you  cannot  gueas,  it  would  be  us' less  for 
me  to  enlighten  you,"  returned  Floret,  as  frig- 
icily  as  before ;  "  give  me  the  name  of  the 
wemanof  wbom  you  have  been  speaking?" 

A  perceptible  shudder  ran  through  Higar's 
frame.  Sne  raised  her  hand  partly  up,  and 
eaid,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  That  jou  may  curse  her.  No,"  she  added, 
vehemently ;  "no.  You  are  a  girl — a  mere 
child — you  will  yet  be  a  woman.  You  have 
not  loved,  you  may  love:  then  you  will  learn 
to  know  what  a  woman  will  do  for  the  man  ehe 
loves ;  you  will  discover  that  while  he  hesi- 
tates, reflects,  and  reasons,  she  acts.  She 
gives  to  him  her  heart,  her  life,  her  soul ;  she 
intrusts  him  with  name,  fame,  leputation,  hap- 
piness, all  that  can  make  life  valuable,  or  love 
estimable,  or  the  world  a  paradise  You  will 
learn  to  know  how  she  clings  tohiml'ke  a  ten- 
dril— to  him  alone — entwining  round  him  all 
her  affections,  hopes,  and  aspirations — J rawing 
joy,  felicity,  even  life  itself  from  him ,  and 
jou  may  yet  learn  that,  after  having  done  this, 
after  having  yielded  without  a  murmur— nay, 
with  joy,  all  that  I  have  enumerated — ay, 
more ;  he  wrenches  her  irom  about  him — from 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


hia  heart,  from  his  daily  life— and  casts  her 
from  him,  as  though,  like  the  ivy,  she  were  a 
pestiferous  weed,  which  destroys  all  that  it 
clings  to.  Curse  the  tempter,  not  the  tempted  ! 
Curse  the  living  blight,  not  the  bligbted! 
Curse  the  destroyer,  not  the  fallen !  Curse 
him  that  made  of  a  living,  lovbg  human  heart, 
generous  without  limifc  to  him,  the  toy  of  a 
day !  Curse  him  who,  hav."ng  by  wiles,  and 
lures,  and  falsehood,  won  a  heart  which  is 
priceless  to  the  giver,  &sd  should  be  to  him, 
fritters  it  away  piecemeal,  or  madly  shatters 
it!-  but  curse  not  her  whose  miserable  exam- 
ple even  you  may  follow." 

"  In  the  name  of  that  Almighty  Power,  in 
whose  dread  presence  we  may  boin,  perhaps, 
shortly  stand,  nave  mercy  upon  me  and  en- 
large no  more  upon  this  s^ject,"  interposed 
Floret,  speaking  with  deep  inward  agooy.  "  It 
is  now  plain  to  me  that  you  are,  and  have 
been,  the  agent  of  the  unnamed  Marchioness 
who  is — who — is  my — " 

Her  voice  became  choked  with  emotion,  and 
•he  paused.  f 

Hagar  comprehended  her  meaning,  and 
said: 

"  You  surmipe  correctly." 

Floret  waved  her  hand. 

"It  is  plain  that  she  is  desirous  that  I 
should  not  hear  har  name,  that  she  should 
never  hear  of  me  me  more,"  she  continued, 
speaking  rapidly  and  with  much  excite- 
ment. 

"  Your  impression  could  not  be  more  faith- 
ful had  you  heard  from  me  the  wishes  that  she 
has  expressed,"  answered  Hagar,  with  slow 
emphasis ;  "  and — " 

"  ft  is  enough !"  exclaimed  Floret,  impa 
tiently. 

"  It  is  not  yet  all !"  rejoined  Hagar. 

"  I  tell  you,  it  is  enough !"  cried  Floret,  Im- 
petuously ;  "I  will  hear  no  more." 

"  You  must,  hear  more  I"  returned  Hagar, 
clutching  at  her  wrist  as  she  was  about  to  quit 
the  copse.  "A  tigress  will  provide  for  its 
yourg.  Although  the  Marchioness,  of  whom 
we  have  spoken,  desires  neither  to  see  nor  to 
hear  of  you — that  you  should  never  hear  her 
name  breathed — she,  nevertheless,  does  not 
forget  that  you  are  a  young,  unfriended  girl, 
that  you  will  have  requirements,  needs,  and 
wants,  with  which,  though  she  has  supplied 
you  with  a  good  education,  you  will  be  unable 
to  provide  yourself.  She  has,  through  me, 
made  arrangements  to  provide  you  with  money 
when  you  greatly  need  it.  You  will  need 
some  now,  when,  having  fled  from  your  school, 
you  are  hurrying  you  know  net  whither.  I 
am  aware  that  you  have  chosen  London  as 
your  destination,  but  I  am  aware,  tooj  what 
there  awoita  a  poverty-stricken  girl,  endowed 
with  beauty,  who  is  starving,  while  looking, 
with  achiug  heart,  for  something  to  do  by 
which  she  can  earn  a  living.  I  have  a  purse 
of  money  here ;  it  is  yours,  and  if  you  should 
expend  it  before  you  have  obtained  employ- 
ment, here  is  an  address  to  which  you  can  send 
a  note,  in  which  alone  you  will  put  the  name 


and  number  of  the  place  in  which  you  reude, 
and  toe  words,  '  I  am  in  want.'  " 

As  Higdr  concluded,  she  attempted  to  place 
in  Fioret'a  hand  a  seemingly  ^well-stored  puree, 
but  Floret  recoiled  from  her  with  a  sudden, 
piercing  cry  of  horror,  and  she  started  back 
her  elf. 

Recovering  herself,  however,  quickly,  she 
again  advanced  to  Floret,  and,  forcing  the 
purse  into  her  hand,  she  said,  with  empha- 
sis : 

"  To  refuse  this  would  be  childish  sentimen- 
talism." 

But  Floret,  with  a  renewed  cry  of  agony, 
hurled  the  purse  from  her,  and,  sobbing  only 
as  one  who  has  a  broken  heart  sobs,  tottered 
'  ra'her  than  ran  out  of  the  copae. 

Hagar  watched  her  as  she  departed  ;  she 
did  not  offer  to  stay  her,  but  she  breathed 
heavily  as  she  disappeared. 
•  "Poor  Girl!"  she  muttered;  "  her  destiu  j 
is  a  hard  one,  but  the  planet  which  rules  that 
destiny  has  prognosticated  suffering  only  for 
it,  it  portends  danger  and  suffering  still.  I  am 
but  an  instrument  of  the  stars.  I  would  fain 
not  go  on  with  the  task  I  have  undertaken,  but 
nay  destiny  and  hers  will  that  it  should  be  so. 
Bat  I  will  not  lose  sight  of  her,  despite  what 
theTawney  Princa  may  decree,  and  I  can  find 
a  willing  hand  to  aid  me,  though  palm  to  palm 
he  compels  me  to  swear  to  refrain  evermore 
from  stepping  between  the  Wanderer  and  her 
lot. 

She  picked  up  the  purse  which  Floret  had 
cast  away  ia  scorn  as  she  concluded,  and  se- 
creting it  about  her  person,  she  moved  slowly 
out  of  the  copse. 

As  the  intertwined  leaves  and  branches  of 
the  thickly- entangled  trees  hid  her  gay  dress 
from  sight,  a  man's  figure  rose  up  from  a  leafy 
recess  eloeeJy  contiguous  to  the  spot  on  which 
she  and  Floret  had  stood  while  they  were  com- 
1  municg  together,  and  stepped  lightlv  out  into 
;  the  open  part  of  the  coppice.  He  watched  the 
direction  which  Hagar  Lot  took,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded cautiously  to  the  path  over  which 
Floret  had  totlere'd  when  she  broke  away  from 
Hagar. 

He  followed  Floret  until  he  observed  that 
she  had  unwittingly  wandered  into  a  spot  no 
less  obscure  than  that  which  she  had  jubt  quit- 
ed,  and  then  quickening  his  step  he  gained  her 
side. 

"  Floret !''  he  breathed  softly  in  her  ear. 

She  started  and  slightly  screamed.    When 
she  saw  who  it  was,  she  shrank  from  hioa  as  / 
though  she  were  some  ehameful  creature  whose  f 
very  touch  would  contaminate  him. 

He  gazed  upon  her  sorrowfully. 

"  Fairest  flower  of  the  forest,"  he  said,  ia  his  \ 
soft,  silvery  tone,  '•  do  not  shrink  from  your- 
self;  remember  that  you  are  pure  and  inno- 
cent, and  while  that  you  are  so,  the  guilt  of 
others  cannot  defile  you." 

She  wrung  her  hands,  and  muttered  a  few 
incoherent  words. 

"  O  White  Rose,  purified  even  by  the  fiery 
ordeal  through  which  you  are  passkg,"  he 


70 


HAGAR  LOT; 


said,  elevating  his  voice,  "where  are  your 
firmness,  your  endurance,  your  self-respect?" 

44  Gone,  gone,  gone,  a»l  —  all  gone!"  ehe  cried, 
wildly.  "  I  have  none  left,  none,  none !  I  am 
•  nameless,  shameful  outcast—" 

"Not  shameful,  Floret,"  he  interposed, 
quick 'y.  "  O  White  Rose,  not  one  saowy  leaf 
of  your  spotless  nature  is  tainted  I — no,  not  a 
fold,  even  down  to  the  very  depths  of  your  pure 
heirt,  wears  upon  it  a  speck  or  a  stain.  The 
impurity  of  another's  fame,  though  closely 
connected  with  you.  does  not  tarnish  yours. 
Besides,  some  day — " 

"  I  will  not  live  until  some  day !"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  curious,  startling  sivageness. 

He  caught  her  by  the  dress,  suddenly,  and 
pointed  upward,  and  with  a  solemn  and  even 
dignified  gesture,  said : 

"There  d  veils  the  Judge  of  what  is  right 
that  we  should  do." 

Sbe  turned  her  eyes  quickly  upon  him  as  he 
touched  her  dress,  and  they  followed  his  hand 
as  it  made  its  gesture  to  heaven. 

She  cowered  for  a  moment,  and  then  flinging 
herself  upon  the  ground,  she  gave  way  once 
more  to  a  frantic  passion  of  agonizing,  bitter 
tears. 

Liper  Leper  knelt  by  her  side,  and  essayed 
to  comfort  ter.  He  Cilled  upon  her  to  exert 
the  courage  and  the  powers  wbicn  he  knew  her 
to  possess,  and  he  earnestly  endeavored  to  as- 
sure her  that  her  eky  could  not  be  elf  ays 
overcast.  He  reminded  her  that  ehe  had  du- 
ties to  perform  as  well  as  aspirations  to  con- 
ceive, and  that  those  duties  taught  her  to  live 
for  others  es  well  as  for  herself. 

She  wrung  her  hands  still. 

"  Whom  have  I  now  to  live  for?"  she  ex- 
claimed, piteously. 

Two  very  opposite  persons  were  present  in 
kheir  mental  visions  at  that  moment. 

Liper  turned  partly  round,  and  pointing 
from  the  spot,  said : 

'•Tne  young  lady  from  the  school  in  York- 
shire, who  ia  seated  in  yonder  tent  awaiting 
you,  what  will  become  of  her  if  j  ou  desert 

A  flush  of  crimson  passed  over  Floret's  face 
and  neck,  she  rose  up  from,  the  grass,  and 
when  upon  her  feet  she  was  as  white  as  death 
ifeelf. 

"Conduct  me  to  her,  Liper,"  she  paid,  in  a 
feeble  tone.  "  You  have  taught  me  a  lesson. 
May  I  profit  by  it!  I  <?o  not  know  how  to 
thank  you— nay,  thanks  from  me  are  worth - 
less—  " 

'*  Floret,"  interrupted  Lipcr,  speaking  with 
a  strange  energy,  speak  not  to  me  c-f  thanks 
now.  Never  yet  h^ve  I  rendered  you  a  eerv- 
ice wor  h  your  acknowledgment ;  but  the  day 
will  come  when  euc!i  eervice  as  I  contemplate 
will  be  indeed  deserving  of  your  thanks — but 
when,  too,  Floret,  your  thanks  will  be  a  prize 
worth  winning.  Speak  no  more  of  me  now; 
speak  only,  think  only,  of  yourself.  We  shall 
break  vp  the  tents  and  separate  to-morrow, 
It  would  be  better  for  you  to  leave  this  place 
«re  sundown.  I  will  join  you  before  you  have 


reached  far,  and  will  conduct  you  to  a  railway 
by  means  cf  which  you  will  be  conveyed  to 
London  without  further  fatigue,  and  whik 
maHog  yeur  way  timber  you  can  make  youi 
arringe-uents  respecting  your  future  proceed- 
ings ia  London,  and  you  may  do  so  without 
fetr  of  further  interference  from  the  Dar'dy. 
Yondtr  is  the  tent  in  which  your  friend  is 
seated— there  is  the  path  is  will  be  best  for 
you  to  take  when  you  leave  it,  and  pursue  it 
until  I  overtake  you.  You  wi'l  see  it  windi 
round  a  narrow  efip  of  the  base  of  the  hill, 
and  it  will  conduct  you  to  the  vale  along 
which  you  will  have  to  journey  to  the  railway 
sta-ion." 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words,  he  glided  from 
the  spot. 

Floret  gazed  after  him,  and  murmured,  eara- 
estly: 

"  Would  that  the  rest  of  the  world  were 
bn':  hah  as  kind  and  faithful  as  Liper  Leper!" 

Within  a  minute  from  that  time,  she  was 
folded  in  the  arms  of  I  a  ;  but  almost  instan- 
taneously she  broke  from  her  embrace,  only 
io  renew  it  with  more  passionate  ardor  than 
before. 

For  suddenly,  aa  ehe  recoiled  from  Ida,  see 
remembered  that  her  poor  friend,  like  her,  was 
naonle-s  and  friendless :  had  been  placed  at 
the  horrible  school  at  Ugglebarnby  even  as 
she  had  herself;  some  one,  she  knew  not 
whom,  had  paid  for  a  time  for  1  er  liviog,  but 
it  was  only  too  palpable  that  she,  too,  was  the 
offspring  of  one  who  dared  not  acknowledge 
her. 

Then  it  was  that  Floret  seemed  to  feel  that 
she  had  met  witk  a  sister  In  miaibrtuBe,  whose 
poverty,  trials,  and  humiliation  were  not  only 
of  a  kindred  character,  but  eprarg  from,  a  kin- 
dred source  ;  and  she  pressed  her  to  her  heart 
witti  more  warmsh  and  more  genuine  sincerity 
than  she  would  have  done  kad  ttie  embrace 
been  given  under  more  prosperous  circum- 
stances. 

To  Ida  nil  this  embracing  and  recoiling  wag 
unintelligible.  She  saw  that  Floret  had  been 
suffering  greatly  from  grievous  emotion,  and 
ebe  put  a  hundred  rapid  questions  to  her,  which 
Flortt  was  obliged  to  repress,  bat  it  the  same 
time  to  promise  to  answer  at  the  first  conven- 
ient opportunity. 

Then  she  gladdened  her  heart  by  tolling  her 
that  they  were  both  quite  safe,  and  would  be 
permitted  to  start  upon  their  way  to  London 
in  a  few  short  hours. 

Even  while  she  was  speaking,  two  young 
gippy  girla  made  their  appearance  with  a 
bdeket  which  contained  some  very  excellent 
and  enticing  eatables  and  some  refreshing  bev 
erage.  Toey  quickly  spread  tLem  before  the 
two  young  girJs,  and  requested  them  to  eat 
and  enjoy  themselves  ;  to  ask  also  for  any  thing 
which  they  might  require,  and  if  it  was  to  be 
obtained  upon  the  spot,  it  would  be  iuruiahed 
to  them. 

Taey  then  left  Floret  and  Ida  to  partake  oi 
their  repast  by  themselves,  and  as  thty  had  a 
long  journey  beiore  them,  Floret  easily  per* 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


71 


0uadedl  Ida  to  eat  heartily,  but  sha  had  no 
power  to  touch  more  than  a  moreel  herself. 

As  soon  as  the  sun  began  to  decline,  Floret* 
finding  that  none  of  the  gipsies  approached 
them,  that  their  small  bundles  had  been  placed 
in  their  tent,  and  that  they  were  evident'y 
free  to  act  for  themselves,  suggested  to  Ida 
that  they  should  quietly  take  their  departure. 

Ida  was  only  too  glad  to  agree  to  the  sug 
geation.  She  was  very  quickly  ready  to  de- 
part, and  having  arranged  their  faded,  but  yet 
in  its  appearance  smart  attire,  they  each  se- 
cured a  bundle,  and  made  their  way  down  the 
path  which  Liper  Lsper  had  pointed  cut  to 
Floret. 

It,  after  half  an  hour's  walk,  led  them  into  a 
public  road,  and  Floret,  knowing  that  the  fact 
of  its  being  public  was  suggestively  in  itself  a 
protection,  she  was  plad  to  eater  upon  and 
proceed  along  it  with  a  quickened  pace. 

With  a  light  step  and  a  lighter  heart  than 
she  had  experienced  since  she  started,  Ida  kept 
pace  with  her,  employing:  her  tongue  with  a 
volubility  which,  had  Floret  had  lees  care 
upon  her  mind,  would  have  amuse-i  her.  As 
it  was,  it  helped  to  divert  some  of  her  saddest 
thoughts. 

As  night  set  in,  Floret  began  to  look  anx- 
iously for  Liper  Leper,  and  she  had  not  to 
look  in  vain,  for  a  sudden  scream  from  Ida,  as 
they  reached  a  spot  darkened  by  overhang- 
ing trees,  showed  to  her  Liper  Leper  by  their 
aide.  * 

He  seemed  strangely  taciturn,  but  yet  gentle 
and  kind  in  the  few  words  that  he  did  speak. 
He  confined  himself  almost  entirely  to  direct- 
^ng  them  what  to  do  when  they  reached  Lon- 
don, advising  them  where  to  obtain  lodgings,. 
and  bow  to  set  about  to  search  for  Mamma  At- 
ten,  for  her  abode  it  was  that  Floret  hoped  to 
find,  and  from  her  the  means  of  acquiring  a 
livelihood,  until  she  should  finally  determine 
what  her  future  caurse  should  be. 

Liper  Leper  completed  bis  instructions  as 
they  reached  the  railway  station,  placed  them 
in  a  carriage  in  which  they  were  likely  to  per- 
form the  journey  alone,  and  bade  them  an 
abrupt  and  haaty  farewell. 

As  his  hand  disappeared  from  the  carriage- 
window,  a  shrill  whistle  sounded,  and  the  two 
poor,  friendless  girls  were  borne  to  London  to 
tempt  fortune. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
**  Not  death — death  was  co  more  refuge  or  rest ; 

Not  life-it  was  despair  to  be!— not  bleep, 
For  fiends  and  ct  asms  of  fire  had  dispostest 

All  natural  dreama :  to  wake  was  not  to  weep, 
But  to  gaze  mad  and  pallid  at  the  leap 

To  which  tha  Future,  like  a  snaky  scourge, 
Or  like  some  tyraai'a  eye  which  ajedoih  keep 

Its  withering  beam  upon  hid  slavo  did  ur*e 
Their  steps."  — SHELLET. 

It  was  night  when  the  train  which  conveved 
Floret  and  Ida  to  London  reached  its  destina- 
tion. 

Following  Liper  Leper's  advice,  they  pro- 
ceeded, half-bewildered  by  the  excitement  and 
the  noise  attendant  upon  the  disgorging  of 
the  living  freight  borne  by  the  train  in  which 


w"bich  they  could  obtain,  cheaply,  clean  and 
comfjTtable  repose  for  the  ui^bfc,  Tu««y  were 
fortunate  in  securing  a  ekeping  apartmtnt  for 
a  moderate  sum,  and  though  tney  fouai  it 
difficult  to  'obtain  much  sleep  in  tbe  strange 
plduw,  abounding  as  it  did  in  noises,  o»cisioned 
throughout  the  night  by  persons  arriTirg  at 
or  departing  from  London,  they  passed  the 
night  wiih  satisfaction,  and  a  greater  eeuee  of 
security  than  they  had  felt  since  they  had 
quieted  the  i4  eligible  establishment"  of  the 
Blixentioiks. 

They  breakfasted  in  an  apartment  in  which 
many  other  persons  breakfasted,  too,  and  in 
which  the  smell  of  coffee,  and  something  else, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  croes  between  '•  hard- 
bake" and  burnt  cake,  overpowered  all  other 
effluvias. 

They  felt  confused  and  embarraaaed,  for  it 
appeared  as  if  every  one  starsd  at  them  with  an 
inquisitive  and  questioning  look,  as  though  it 
cot  corned  them  mush  to  know  their  history, 
and  that  they  would  be  glad  to  be  put  in  pos- 
session of  it. 

One  gentleman,  indeed,  whose  locks,  mous- 
tache, and  beard  were  of  a  flame-color,  of 
very  irregular  growth,  and  of  undoubted  dirti- 
ness1, seemed  to  much  admire  thtir  presence. 
He  distended  his  unlashed  lids,  and  never  took 
his  whitey-gray  eyes  cff  them  while  he  called 
lor  "  'Arf  a  pint  of  corfee,  roll  and  butttr.  an' 
a  'errin".  And  when  he  perceived  that  Ida's 
brilliint  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him,  with  a 
look  in  which  admiration  wa3  not  blended  with 
astonishment,  he  fancied  tnat  it  was  the  cor- 
rect thing  to  close  up  one  eye  sharply,  and 
open  it  again,  and  then  grin,  to  tbe  unfavor- 
able development  of  .some  j  igcjed  teeth,  set  in 
a  friage  of  green  moss,  which  grew  ia  wild 
luxuriance  about  the  upper  edges  of  his  gums. 

Ida  did  not  comprehend  tLii  pantomime, 
but  she  was  unable  to  resist  smiling  uo  the 
dirty  and  grotesque  object  before  lit r,  while 
Flore^,  whose  childish  memories  were  not  Euch 
as  to  lead  her  to  believe  than  the  man's  con- 
duct was  a  preliminary  to  anything  advantag- 
eous to  them,  looked  frightened. 

Ida's  emile  was  however,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
individual,  an  encouragement  to  open  a  con- 
versation, and  so  he  nodded  and  drew  up  to 
the  table  at  which  they  were  seated. 

He  turned  to  the  landlord,  and  said  : 

"  I'll  take  my  corfee,  roll  and  butter,  an'  'er- 
rin  'ere." 

Neither  Floret  nor  Ida  had  finished  their 
repast,  when  the  man  gave  his  instructions  to 
the  landlord,  but  Ida  rose  up  and  said, 
hastily  : 

"Lfctua  go  away." 

Floret  quitted  her  seat  immediately,  and  was 
about  to  depart,  but  the  man  pi  deed  his  hand 
upon  he?  arm,  and  exclaimed,  quickly : 

*'  Not  altogether,  Miss ;  you  ain'c  a-goin|  to 
hook  it  in  such  a  'urry." 

Floret  did  not  answer  him,  but  shook  bis 
hand  from  her  arm. 

lie  caught  hold  of  Ida's  mantle,  and  ex- 
claimed, in  a  low  tone : 


HAGAR  LOP  : 


«  Gotoe,  none  o'  your  natty-particklar  vaya ; 
jee^  tit  down,  viil  you  ?  You  ain't  done  your 
fcre^kfis1." 

Id*  euatchcd  her  mantle  from  him,  and,  look- 
ing rar.ber  white,  said : 

*•  I  do  not  wact  any  more." 

"That  be  blowed,"  be  replied,  hurriedly; 
*'eit  down,  I  tell  you.  I  vant  to  txlk  to  you. 
"  1 11  stand  another  cup  an'  a  rasher ;  there ! — 
eit  down." 

lie  caught  her  once  more  by  her  cloak,  and 
detained  hes. 

Id*  1  )oked  at  him  frowingly  and  haughtily. 
She  plucked  at  her  mantle  to  liberate  herself, 
and^id,  ftvtz'ngly  : 

'•  You  will  be  good  enough  to  remove  your 
hand  from  my  mantle.  I  don't  know  you  ;  I 
don't  wish  to  know  you." 

Floret  looked  for  ner  landlord,  to  claim  his 
protection ;  bub  he  was  away  in  eome  secret 
reces*,  deeply  engaged  in  producing  the  bev- 
erage which  tbe  dirty  individual  wi  h  tne  fiaine- 
hue  i  locks  had  ordered. 

"  Talker,"  rt- joined  the  fellow,  "  ve  ehali  be 
good  friends  enough,  I  dessay.  You  sit  down, 
or  }  shall  jest  be  obliged  to  make  you,  you 
know.'7 

A  smart  groom,  who  had  entered  a  few  min- 
utes previously,  and  was  tossing- off  a  cup  of 
''Oar-mixture-at  three- and-fcur",  into  which 
he  had  plunged  "  half  a  quartern"  of  genuine 
"  British  brandy,  strongly  recommended  by 
the  F,;culf,y",  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Floret's 
face  the  moment  he  had  entered,  and  had  kept 
them  there.  A  conviction  paeeed  through  his 
mind  that  her  features  were  very  familiar  to 
him,  and,  simultaneously  with  it,  that  the  bran- 
dy bad  been  made  somewhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Smithfiold.  While  he  was  assuring 
himeelf  that  both  were  facts,  he  overheard  tbe 
individual  wish  the  grubby  beard  inform  Ida 
that  he  would  make  her  resume  her  seat. 

A  thought  crossed  him,  and  he  walked  de- 
liberateJy  across  tbe  room,  and  touched  Ida's 
aseailant  rather  smartly  en  the  ehoulder. 

The  fellow  turned  quickly  round,  end  per- 
ceived, with  some  surprise,  the  short  natty 
groom  at  his  elbow. 

The  latter  pointed  quietly  to  the  fellow's 
hand,  which  still  held  Ida,  and  he  said,  in  a 
low,  but  very  decided  tone : 

'•  You'd  better  drop  that  neat  thing  in  man- 
tles." 

**  Why  ?''  .asktd  the  man,  sharply. 

"  For  ee-ve-ral  reasons,"  resumed  the  groom, 
readily.  "Von  of  vieh  is  that  you  aia'fc  no 
business  vith  it,  an'  you  ain't  vanted  to  have 
cny  business  vith  it.  Your  company  isn't 
vetted,  and  your  habsence  is." 

The  man  displayed  his  jagged  teeth,  but 
this  time  angrily. 

*•  Vot  do  you  know  about  it?"  he  asked,  with 
an  expression  which  impliad,  also,  that  the 
groom  was  meddling. 

•  "I  sees  that  you  are  making  the  young  la- 
dies leave  their  breakfua'  afore  they've  finished 
it,"  be  answered.  "  You  may  be  werry  fond, 
ven  in  your  own  kennel,  of  looking  into  that 


ere  'ighly.fhrshed,  polished,  tin-plrfe  looking 
f.lies  o'  3  ouro — a  raul  bargain  at  f..'rii--;:ii'-fi:x~; 
but  it  eia't  every  von  as  littes  to  coi>f«mplite 
the  picter  of  an  ugly  man's  b.by.  You  may 
do  wtrry  well  for  a  fen. ale  'rang-'a-latg,  but 
you  von't do  f jr notbirg  puttier,  viil  he,  Mies  ?" 
be  added,  addressing  FJoret,  and  etarirg  ?.t  fcer 
with  a  look  of  singularly-searching  itquiry. 

Fioret  inetinc  ively  know  that  this  groora, 
who  regarded  her  with  such  a  deliberate  stead- 
fastness, was  interfering  from  no  common  mo- 
tive ;  and  as  he  felt  that  she  had  nothing  to 
hope  for  even  from  him,  and  all  to  fear,  eho 
would  not  reply,  but  averting  her  head,  moved, 
as  if  in  search  of  the  landlord. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  groom  moved  be- 
hind the  man  whom  he  had  addressed,  and,  by 
a  simple  jerk  of  hia  wriat,  liberated  Ida's  man- 
tle from  his  hand,  and  then  placed  himself  be- 
tween them. 

"  You  want  to  get  yourself  into  a  row,"  I 
think,"  observed  the  carroty  headed  party,  ad- 
dressing the  groom,  fiercelv. 

"  Well,  do,  werry  bad,"  he  retorted  ;  "  an'  I 
shall,  too,  because  if  you  don't  go  aid  take 
your  chicoree  at  another  table,  I  shall  chuck 
your  cup  into  the  street,  and  you  along  vith  it 
— 0 1"  he  added,  as  the  landlord  made^his  ap- 
pearance with  the  <k  'arf  a  pint"  of  coffee  and 
the  fragrant  blcater,  "  this  article  viil  take  his 
dose  at  another  part  of  the  'atablishment ;  'jea 
put  it  over  there." 

In  another  instant,  a  very  angry  altercation 
ensued,  and  ib  was  followed  by  o  "  terrific  com- 
bat". The  fiery- bearded,  unclean  customer  fer 
the  "  errin",  being  of  an  irasoible  turn,  finding 
the  sarcastic  remarks  cf  the  groom  on  hia  oer- 
sonal  appearance  unendurable,  made  a  sudlfen 
and  violet. t  blow  at  him  ;  but  the  groom  nim- 
bly ducked,  and  avoided  it.  Not  BO  the  land- 
lord, who  stood  immediately  behind  t "he  groom, 
holding  the  coffee,  the  roll,  and  butter,  and  the 
bloated  fish  of  Yarmouth  «plit  opea  and  grill- 
ed, upon  a  tray.  He  received  the  hit  immedi- 
ately under  the  chin,  and  though  the  force  was 
slightly  spent,  it  reached  him  with  sufficient 
velocity  to  place  him  and  the  coffee,  the  roll 
and  butter,  the  herring,  and  the  tray,  in  the 
adjoining  apartment  from  whence  he  had  a 
moment  before  emerged  with  the  whole  meai. 

Tne  groom,  although  he  avoided  the  blow 
delivered  ft  him,  returned  it  by  another,  which 
reached  its  destination,  and  precipitated  the 
red- bearded  man  upon  the  floor.-  This  inci- 
dent was  but  the  work  of  an  instant,  but  it 
called -into  action  a  number  cf  persons,  who 
were  partaking  of  their  breskfa&ts  a  moment 
previously  in  peacefukess ;  and  the  end,  which 
was  epecdily  brought  about  by  the  arrival  of  a 
policeman,  was  the  departure  of  the  red- 
bearded  man  in  the  custody  cf  the  letter,  upon 
a  charge  made  by  the  landlord  that  te  had  as- 
eaulted  him,  and  had  committed  considerable 
damage,  for  which  he  determinedly  refused  to 

pay- 
As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  and  peace  was  re* 
stored,  the  groom,  who  had  slunk  mysteriously 
out  of  eight,  when  the  policeman  entered  the 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


73 


coffee-room,  reappeared,  an<3  sidlirg  vn  to 
Floret,  who,  terrified  and  excited,  was  waiting 
to  pay  tbe  email  bill  she  had,  with  Ida,  incur- 
red at  this  place,  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  and 
with  a  kind  of  knowing  nod  : 

"I  beg  your  parding,  Miss,  but  I  w:ll  be 
werry  'specif ul  to  you,  Miss.  I  think  I  knows 
ycra/Miss." 

She  gazed  at  him  inquiringly,  and  then  re- 
turned : 

"Impossible.  I  have  never  seen  YOU  be- 
fore." 

"That's  werry  likely,  Miss,"  he  replied, 
looking  very  earaestly  ut  her  features,  though 
not  rudely.  "  I  can't  say  as  ever  I  eeed  you 
afore  ;  that  is  jest  you,  yourself  M;ss  ;  but  I  ve 
seed  your  likeness.  Ah  I  an'  it's  the  werry 
image  on  you." 

"My  likeness!— you  are  mistaken,"  re- 
sponded Floret,  coldly ;  "  it  was  never  paint- 
ed." 

She  turned  away.  She  did  not  like  to  enter 
into  any  conversation  with  any  stranger,  espe- 
cially such  an  ir»dividual  as  the  one  before 
her;  but  she  was  afraid  to  repulse  him  too 
abruptly,  for  fear  another  scene  might  ensue 
before  the  could  get  away  from  this  no  longer 
secure  and  comfortable  aeylum. 

"  I  ain't  mistaken,  Miss,"  said  the  groom, 
touching  his  hat ;  for  he  preserved  a  manner 
of  considerable  deference.  "  I  ain't  mistaken, 
Miss,  in  wot  I  says.  Yen  I  says  as  I  have  seen 
your  likeness,  I  ain't  talking  o'  no  painted  pic- 
ter,  but  a  raal  vork  o'  nater,  eich  as  no  hart 
could  never  come  near.  Your  likeness,  as  I 
seed  it,  was  in  raal  life,  miss,  an'  in  werry  high 
life  too.  I've  seen  a  lady  as  is  azackly  like 
you,  an0ehe's  a  marchioness  too." 

Floret  ftlt  as  though  the  whole  of  the  blood 
in  her  body  congealed  slowly  in  her  veins. 
Like  a  marchioness  I  Hagar  had  spoken  only 
too  terribly  about  her  affinity  to  a  marchion- 
ess. Did  she  carry  about  in  her  features  so 
remarkable  a  resemblance  to  the  woman  of 
guilt  who  had  endowed  her  with  shame,  that 
even  in  a  humble  place  like  that  in  which  she 
now  stood,  she  could  be  recognized  as  her  off- 
spring ?  Bhe  felt  as  if  she  could  slink  out  of 
the  house  alone,  like  one  who,  having  com- 
mitted a  theft,  retires  with  an  abject  gait  from 
a  place  where  be  sees  an  ominous  finger  point- 
ed at  her.  H«r  cheeks  burned,  her  ears  tingled, 
her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears,  and"  she 
trembled  like  an  aspen. 

The  sharp,  quick  eye  of  the  man  detected 
her  emotion.  Ho  glanced  right  and  left;  he 
looked  furtively  at  Ida,  and  then  he  put  his 
finger  to  his  lips. 

Almost  immediately  he  said,  in  a  tone  which 
he  reduced  almost  to  a  whisper : 

"  I  tell  you,  Miss,  I  thinks  I  knows  you ;  an' 
if  you  are  the  party  as  I  spec's  you  to  be,  a 
werry  'ansome  thing  is  l^ing  by  for  you.  It 
ain't  jes'  now  possibly  to  say  when  the  ewent 
may  come  off,  but  it  is  on  the  cards ;  and  let 
whatever  will  'appen,  you  can't  'elp  pull  n' 
through,  becos  I  can  prove  you  to  be  yot  no- 
body el&e  dreams  on.  Lord!  Lord!  if  you 


should  really  be  the  party  as  I've  often,  since 
a  sprig  o'  lawender  von  day  vispered  avord 
in  my  hear,  thought  as  there  must  be  about, 
you  vill  come  von  o'  these  fice  da^s  into  von  o' 
the  werry  best  things  out ;  an'  wot's  more,  I 
can  put  you  into  it  too.  If  I  does,  o'  course  I 
Stan's  in.  I  shan't  open  my  mouth  werry  wide  ; 
but  I  do  want  a  stunnin'  pub  werry  bad.  O 
Jemima ! — but  that  ain't  neither  'ere  nor  there. 
I  must  be  off,  Mies,  'coes  I've  got  eome  'cr«es 
to  look  'ater.  You  jes'  let  me  know  vere  I  can 
call  upon  you,  or  wri^e  to  you  ;  ve  can  vork 
together,  an'  ve  must  bring  off  von  o'  the  best 
things  vich  ever  turned  up— and  bring  it  off 
to  rights  too,  an'  savin'  your  presence— no 
flies." 

There  ^was  something  abont  this  man's 
words,  his  looks,  his  manner,  that  struck 
Floret  very  strongly.  His  mention  of  the  mar- 
chioness, his  assertion  that  he  could  prove  her 
to  be  what  no  other  person  than  himself  sus- 
pected, and  his  other  inuendoes,  gave  her  an 
impression  that  he  not  only — strange  as  it 
might  seem — knew  something  of  her  history, 
but  that  he  was  in  a  position  to  prove  that  she 
was  not  the  creature  of  shame  that  Hagar  had 
declared  her  to  be;  There  seemed  to  be  seme- 
thing  very  preposterous  in  the  thought,  it  is 
true  ;  yet,  nevertheless,  even  her  you?g  expe- 
rience taught  her  that  the  incidents  of  real  life 
far  surpassed  in  romance  and  my&tery  all  the 
improbabilities  that  were  ever  coined  ia  the 
realms  of  fiction. 

While  these  thoughts  were  paesipg  in  her 
mind,  the  groom  cast  his  eye  upon  tne  clock, 
and  said,  hastily : 

"  Be  pleased  to  look  sharp,  for  I  ain't  got  a 
minnit  to  spare.  Vere  shall  I  be  able  to  find 
you  in  a  vetk  or  two?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  exclaimed  Floret,  with  an 
air  of  embarrassment. 

"  That's  a  difficulty,  as  I  ain't  no  time  now 
to  discuss  the  matter  vith  you,  Miss,  -rich  ve'll 
get  over  in  this  'ere  vay,"  said  the  groom, 
hurriedly.  "  'Ere's  my  card,  Miss— Natanel 
Ferret,  'Orse  and  Groom,  Old  Bond  street. 
There" — he  handed  a  small  card  with  the 
above  written  very  legibly,  but  in  a  very  early 
style  of  the  art  of  caligraphy,  to  her,  which 
she,  hardly  knowing  what  to  do  or  what  she 
did,  took  from  him.  "  There,  Miss,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  vhen  youvants  to  see  me,  or  vhe'nev- 
er  you  are  able  to  let  me  know  vere  I  can  'avtf 
a  little  private  and  werry  confidential  talk 
vith  you,  you  drop  me  a  line  at  that  address. 
It  ain't  vere  I  am  at  service ;  but  it  ia  vere  I 
know  noboddy  opens  my  letters  and  reads  vot's 
in  'em  afore  I  do.  Take  care  on  it,  you  don't 
know  how  wallyable  it  ia.  Jes'  eich  a  tbing  as 
that  bit  o'  card,  I  shell  lay  the  odds,  may  go 
to  make  a  lady  o'  you,  an'  a  landlord  o'  me, 
vith  a  party  vbich  has  got  the  ecresminesi 
dark  ringlets — But  never  mind,  Miss,  tt.k-j  care 
o'  the  card,  an'  until  you  sees  me  again,  an' 
go  an'  sing  o'  mornings  an'  nights  tte  lines 
o'  the  song — Nil  despertandem — never  de- 
spair." 

As  he  concluded,  he  touched  his  hat  with 


nAGAR  LOT ; 


bia  forefinger,  smartly  and  sharply,  and  took 
Ilia  departure. 

*»  Wb«ta  eingulir  person!"  observed  Ida,  as 
the  w&tebed  Nut  Ferret,  for  it  was  tb.ttt  geot'e- 
man  m  propria  persona,  quit  the  ooffee-roona, 
imh  a  Liati'y-^ratitiefl  sm'le  upon  hia  GJUU- 
tenance,  flicking  bistmart  and  highly-polished 
top-bout  with  u  ridiug-wbip. 

Floret  carefally  hid  away  Nat's  card,  and, 
taming  to  Ida,  said,  without  replying  to  her 
question : 

"Let  us  leave  this  place  at  once  " 

'I  shall  only  be  too  happy,"  rejoined  Ida. 

Floret  summoned  the  landlord. 

He  came  up  with  a  polite  movement  of  hia 
head. 

44 1  wish  to  pay  yon  for  our  accommoda- 
dation,"  she  said,  ia  a  somewhat  queenly  way 
which  was  natural  to  her. 

"I  hope  that  blackguard  who  annoyed  you 
hag  not  frightened  you  away,"  responded  the 
landlord,  a  little  earnestly. 

'•We  must  go,  if  you  please,"  said  Ida,  a  lit- 
tle anxiously. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  Mies,"  replied  the  landlord. 
"  We  expects  thia ;  'its  all  come  an'  go  here  ; 
that's  how  we  drives  a  trade.  Tnat  rascal,  not- 
witbetandin*,  shall  have  three  months,  if  I 
know  what's  what— three  months  to  learn  bet- 
ter manners  in " 

"  What  have  we  to  pay  ?"  inquired  Floret, 
urgently,  as  several  fresh  customers  entered. 
Being  of  the  opposite  sex,  their  eyes  all  in- 
stantly fell  upon  her  and  Ida,  and  they  lin- 
gered on  their  faces,  too.  Afraid  that  another 
recognition  jet  more  unpleasant  to  her  than 
the  last  might  be  made,  she  was  nervously  de- 
sirous of  leaving  the  house,  and  therefore  re- 
peated her  request  to  know  what  there  was  to 
pay. 

t  "  Let  me  see,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  one  bed, 
eighteen  pen  ce ;  no  suppers;  breakfast,  two 
cups  of  coffee,  threepence;  and  four  thin 
slices,  twopence ;  no  rashers,  herrings,  no 
heggs?" 

The  two  girls  shook  their  heads,  and  the 
landlord  summed  up  the  amount. 

"  Just  one  and  elevespence,  if  you  please, 
miea.  Hope  you  slept  well — wool  mattress, 
and  every  think  perfectly  clean,  and  cheap,  too, 
Miss!" 

'*  We  are  quite  satisfied,"  responded  Floret, 
Ln.a  low  tone,  and  handed  him  two  shillings  in 
payment  of  an  infinitely  more  moderate  bill 
for  hotel  accommodation  than  it  is  customary 
to  present  to  the  daughter  of  an  earl,  and  for 
very  much  milder  accommodation  than  an 
earl's  daughter  would  probably  have  acknowl- 
edged herself  satisfied  with. 

The  coffee-house  keeper  returned  the  penny 
change  with  another  bow,  and  Floret  receiving 
it,  took  up  from  her  seat  her  small  bundle,  Ida 
secured  hers  at  the  same  time,  and  then  they 
Bet  forth  on  their  journey — after  a  phantom. 

It  VT&B  not  difficult  to  tind  their  way  to  Pirn- 
lico  ;  but  Floret  had,  on  reaching  it,  to  trust 
to  her  memory  to  enable  her  to  discover  the 
house  ia  whioa  Susan  Atten  had  dwelt,  and 


many  we«iry  pacings  both  she  and  Ida  tool! 
in  ine  ct-igahoroood  of  E^ury  «'re«t  befor« 
tbey  coald   di.-c  jver  the   little  street  ia  wbiofc 
ehe  haJl  resided  with    her.     Wanderings  pa 
tiently  made,  and  question*  persevering!  ?  pujj 
enabled  them,  at  ieogth  to  enter  Little  Ctiza- 
be  h  street,  and  pau^e  at  th«  door  of  the  house 
to  which  Susan  had  taken  Floret  on  their  ar- 
rival in  London,  after  their  flight  from  Ascot 

There  was  a  row  of  four  braas  b*Jl-knobi 
upon  the  side  of  the  door,  which  were  small, 
and  kept  exceedingly  bright.  Floret  remem- 
bered them  well ;  but  did  not  recollect  which 
belonged  to  Mamma  Atten,  so  she,  wub  a  beat- 
ing heart,  laid  her  small,  white  trembling  ting-, 
ers  upon  the  tirst,  and  rang  gently. 

Tne  door  was,  however,  promptly  answered 
by  a  hard-featured  woman,  whose  countenance 
expressed  an  impression  that  she  had  been 
called  to  the  door  to  answer  a  beseeching  ap- 
peal of  charity,  with  which  it  was  by  no  meant, 
her  intention  of  sympathizing  or  responding! 
to.  When,  however,  she  saw  the  two  young) 
girls  each  carrying  a  bundle,  her  features  ua- 
derwent  a  change,  and  curiosity  took  the  plaoe 
of  pitilessness.  Still  she  did  not  evidently 
expect  that  her  visitants  had  called  to  inquire 
atttr  any  one  residing  in  the  house,  nnd  she, 
therefore,  did  not  atk  whom  they  wanted,  bat 
what  they  wanted. 

Floret  was  about  at  once  to  inquire  for 
Mamma  Atten,  but  she  felt  that  there  would 
be  something  absurd  in  her  inquiring  for  her 
under  such  a  name,  and  she  knew  not  why 
she  felt  a  reluctance  to  ask  for  Mies  Atten,  and 
so,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  said : 

"  I  wish  to  see  Susan  Atten,  if  you  please." 

"  Who  ?''  interrogated  the  wom-4^  sharply. 

"  Susan  A uen,"  responded  Floret,  in  the 
same  hesitating  tone  she  had  at  tirst  adopted. 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  her !"  she  exclaimed,  lacon- 
ically. 

"  She  lived  in  this  house,"  suggested  Flo- 
ret. 

"Never  heard  the  name,"  answered  the 
woman,  curtly. 

*•  For  several  years,"  continued  Floret,  grow- 
ing anxious,  "  ehe  occupied  a  room  in  thig 
heuse.  I  am  sure  of  that !" 

"  Don't  know  her,"  returned  the  woman. 

4<  She  was  a  dressmaker,"  urged  Floret. 

"  Not  here — no  dressmeker  in  this  house- 
all  young  men,"  answered  the  hard-featured 
woman. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  mistaken  in  the  house  I* 
observed  Ida  to  Floret. 

"No,"  returned  Floret,  quickly.  "I  am 
quite  sure  that  this  is  the  house  in  which  she 
lived." 

"  How  long  ago  ?"  asked  the  woman,  in  aa 
abrupt  tone. 

"  It  is  quite  three  years,"  returned  Floret    I 

"  Ah,"  replied  the  woman.  "  That'll  do.  I 
have  been  here  a  year  and  a  half,  and  the 
house  had  been  empty  a  year  when  I  tcok  it. 
I  tuink  I  did  hear  something  when  I  was  about 
it,  concerning  a  young  woman  who  died  oi  the 


OR,  THE  PATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


ft 


small-pox,  or  a  broVen  heart,  or  went  to 
Amerio-S  T  forg*i  which  ;  but  I  knows  noth- 
ing About  her.  Anything  more  to  Bay  to 
me  ?  for  I'm  getting  iuy  things  ready  for  tbe 
mingle,  and  the  man  will  be  herd  for  them 
before  I'm  ready  for  him,  unless  I  look 
sharp  I" 

Floret  felfc  sorely  disappointed ;  she  did  not 
know  what  to  eay,  or  what  to  do. 

••  Dili  you  know  any  one  else  living  in  the 
bouse  ?"  suggested  Ida.  "  If  you  did,  perhaps 
we  m'ght  find  that  person  out!" 

Floret1 8  face  brightened. 

"  Y«s,"  ebe  eaid,  quickly ;  "  t'aere  was  a  Mies 
Marr— a  Miss  Harriet  Mirr.  She  was  a  gov- 
erne9s,  and  taught  music.  Do  you  recollect 
the  name  ?"  she  inquired  of  the  woman,  earn- 
estly. 

••  Lord,  no  1"  she  replied,  almost  testily. 
Don't  I  tell  you  that  the  house  was  empty  when 
I  took  it  ?  I  know  nothing  of  nobody  that  was 
in  it  before  me !" 

'•  Do  you  think  any  person  in  the  neighbor- 
hood would  kaoar  where  the  persons  of  whom  I 
speak  bate  gone  ?"  inquired  Floret. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  returned  the  woman. 
"  You  had  better  ask  about  at  the  shops!" 

"  1  expected,"  said  Floret, "  to  be  able  to  rent 
an  apartment  in  toe  same  house  with  Susan 
Atten,  or,  at  least,  in  one  situated  near  to  her. 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do  now  I" 

"A  bedroom  furnished,  I  suppose?"  said 
the  woman,  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Floret.  "  Have  you  one 
to  l«t  to  na  for  a  E fort  time?" 

"  A  short  time  ? '  iterated  the  womam,  as  if 
the  expression  were  not  altogether  satisfactory 
to  her ;  ard  then  added :  '•  Well,  I  have  one  to 
let,  certainly  ;  but  what  references  have  you  ?'' 

"  References?"  echoed  Floret,  with  surprise ; 
"  what  do  you  mean?" 

The  woman  opened  her  eye§. 

"  My  house  is  pretty  near  full  of  respectable 
young  men,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  toss  of  the 
head,  "  and  it  won't  do  for  me  to  take  in  any- 
body that  I  knowa  nothing  about.  Who  are 
you? — what'a  your  name? — who  are  your 
friends?— where  do  you  come  from? — that's 
what  I  mean  by  references." 
|;  What  a  series  of  questions  for  Floret  to  an- 
swer !  Her  heart  died  within  her.  How  could 
she  reply  to  any  of  them? 
j  The  woman  observed  her  turn  red,  and  then 
pale,  and  appear  embarassed,  and  said,  sharp- 

JJ: 

I    "  Ain't  you  going  to  answer  my  questions  ?" 
:     "  I  must  decline  to  answer  them,"  she  re 
plied,  taintly  ;  and  added  :  "  I  thought  that,  if 
I  kept  my  rent  paid,  it  would  matter  very  little 
to  any  one  who  I  was." 

rf    "  Wouldn't  it? '  rejoined  the  woman,  quickly. 
,"It  would  to  me,  I  should  think.    Besides, 
what  luggidge  have  you  got  ?" 
)    Floret  looked  at  her  somewhat  aghast,  as  she 
put  tlie  question : 

j  *'I  suppose  them  bundles  contain  all  your 
wardrobes,  eh  ?"  continued  the  woman,  point- 
ing  to  the  fcmail  bundles  which  they  carried. 


Floret  bent  hf  r  head  ae?entingly ;  and  then 
the  woman,  raising  her  voice  wrattfully.  said: 

"  Wtiy,  I  never  met  with  a  couple  of  more 
artful,  barefaced  baggages  in  my  life.  What 
<?o  you  mean  by  comiug  here  to  me  with  a 
cock-and-bull  story  about  a  woman  tnat'<j  dead 
long  ago,  in  order  thatyou  may  sneak  icto  my 
house,  get  into  my  debt,  perhaps  ruin  my 
youn^-men  lodgers,  and  turn  the  whole  place 
topsy  turvey  ?  I  wish  a  policeman  would  only 
ju*t  come  out  of  one  of  them  areas  in  Etiton 
square;  I'd  give  you  in  charge  to  him  ;  troop 
off  with  you  while  your  shoes  are  as  good  as 
they're  likely  to  be.  Be  cff  with  you.  I 
won't  let  you  no  bedroom,  nor  more,  will 
anybody  else,  with  them  twopenny-halfpenny 
bun'dles  ;  so  don't  try  on,  or  you'll  got  locked 
up  in  prison  before  the  night  comes.  Be  off 
with  y  u,  and  don't  you  come  riDging  honest 
people's  bells  again,  you  shameless  hussies, 
don't 

A  small  crowd,  attracted  by  the  woman's 
vulgar  volubility,  had  begun  to  assemble,  and 
Floret,  with  a  frightened  look,  catching  Ida's 
hand  tightly  in  her  own,  turned  away  and 
quitted  the  doorway. 

She  overheard  the  woman  for  anrnute  con- 
tinue her  vituperation ;  and  then  she  heard 
the  street-door  closed  with  a  loud  bang.  It 
sounded  on  her  heart  as  if  the  world  had  shut 
its  door  upon  her  for  ever. 

Whither  were  they  now  to  direct  their 
steps?  Without  name,  property,  or  references, 
what  respectable  persons  would  admit  them 
into  their  houses  ?  Floret  felt  the  full  force, 
and  even  the  justice  of  the  woman's  observa- 
tion ;  but,  nevertheless,  if  the  assumption 
were  to  be  borne  out  by  facts,  where  were  they 
to  look  for  shelter? 

Ida  was  silent.  The  woman's  remarks  had 
fallen  upon  her  heart,  as  if  every  word  was  a 
blow  from  a  bar  of  iron,  and  would  slay  her. 

She  felt  as  strongly  and  as  deeply  as  Floret, 
that  she  was  a  nameless,  homeless  outcast, 
She  had  not,  it  is  true,  eating  into  her  soul  that 
canker  which  Hagar  Lot  had  set  up  in  Flo- 
ret's ;  but  she  felt  acutely  the  utter  desolation 
of  her  position. 

They  walked  slowly  on  ;  each  with  a  heart 
far  too  full  of  sorrow  to  speak.  Each  having 
a  dim,  vagne  impression  that  their  bed  that 
night  would  be  on  the  cold,  hard  stones  be- 
Eeath  the  deep  waters  of  the  river  which 
they  had  passed  in  the  morning  on  their  way 
to  Pitnlico. 

But  all  unconscious  that  they  were  being 
followed. 

A  stout  woman  with  a  swarthy  ceirplexion, 
who  was  habited  in  a  rich  inoire-antique 
dress,  over  which  was  hung,  with  looee  vul- 
garily,  a  gaudy  Indian  shawl,  who  had  upon 
her  head  a  large  bonnet,  trimmed  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  flowers,  who  had  long  eanir-gs  in 
her  ears,  huge  bracelets  on  her  wrists,  long 
gold  chains  about  her  neck,  many  rings  upon 
her  fingers,  and  was  otherwise  expensively, 
but  what  is  «xpreeeively  termed  flashily 
dressed,  was  passing,  as  the  woman  in  Little 


HAGAK  LOT ; 


Elizabeth  street  was  pouring  forth  hertorrent 
of  invective  upon  the  two  poor  girls. 

Sne  stopped  and  overheard  part  of  what 
was  Bald.  8  he  scrutinized  the  faces  and  forms 
of  Floret  and  Ida  with  much  critical  acumen. 
She  hung  back  until  the  woman  had  finished 
her  torrent  of  abuse  and  slammed  the  coor, 
then  she  slowly  and  cautiously  followed  two  oi 
the  sweetest  creatures  she  had  ever  seen  dup- 
ing the  course  of  a  long  and  infamous  career 

CHAPTER  XIX 

"  Tread  roftly  through  thess  airorous  rooms ; 

***** 

Tread  softly-softly  like  the  foot 

Of  winter,  shod  with  fleecy  snow, 
Who  Cometh  white  and  cold  and  mute, 

Lest  he  should  wake  the  Spring  below. 
Oh,  look ! — for  here  lie  Love  and  Youth, 

Fair  Spirits  of  the  heirt  and  mind  ; 
Alas !  th*t  one  shoul 1  ever  stray  from  truth ; 

And  one— be  ever,  ever,  ever  blind  !" 

— BAEJIT  CoazrwAit. 

Although  the  reception  of  Floret  and  Ida 
by  the  woman  who  occupied  the  houae  in  Lit- 
tle Elizabeth  street,  in  which  Susan  Atten  had 
formerly  resided,  and  her  subsequent  coarse 
and  brutal  repulse  of  them  filled  both  with  a 
black  despair,  there  was  still  a  difference  in 
the  emotions  which  the  untoward  incident  had 
raised  in  their  young  bosoms. 

Ida  felt  £3  if  she  had  been  suddenly  hurled 
from  a  pleasant  world,  radiant  with  sunshine, 
into  an  uuknown  region  of  profound  darkness. 

This  was  not  exactly  the  case  with  Floret. 
She  felt  herself  reduced  to  an  extremity  by  the 
conduct  of  the  woman  who  owned  the  house  in 
which  she  expected  to  have  found  an  asylum, 
and  that  extremity  was  akin  to  despair.  But 
ehe  had  already  been  plunged  into  a  condition 
of  hopeless  despair  by  H>.gar  Lot,  which  the 
hint  of  Nat  Ferret  had  perhaps  cgitated  in  a 
slightly  favorable  degree,  and  which  it  was  not 
in  the  power  of  the  individual  whose  inhospit- 
able door  she  had  just  quitted  to  deepen.  She 
felt  at  a  loss,  indeed,  where  to  go,  or  what  to 
do. 

Before  she  could  make  an  effort  to  rouse  her 
dormant  energies  to  even  speculate  what  would 
be  the  best  course  for  them  to  altempt  to  pur- 
Bue,  under  the  unhappy  circumstarcea  in 
which  they  were  placed,  sne  became  conscious 
of  a  great  rustling  of  silk  near  to  her,  of  a  very 
strong  odor  of  crape,  and  funerals,  and  grave- 
clothes  combined  into  one  scent,  and  an  un- 
mistakable panting  of  breath. 

She  turned  round,  and  beheld  by  her  side, 
the  stout,  gorgeously-arrayed,  and  repulsive- 
looking  woman  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 

At  first,  Floret's  impression  was,  that  not- 
withstanding the  Biddy's  assertion  that  she 
was  dead,  she  saw  before  her  the  Grannam, 
disguised  in  brilliant  attire ;  but  the  next  mo- 
men  -  she  was  satisfied  that  she  was  mistaken, 
and  that  the  wom;n,  who  was  evidently  about 
to  speak  to  her,  was  an  entire  stranger  to  her. 

As  the  peraon  laid  hold  of  her  mantle,  Floret 
looked  np  in  her  face,  and  the  woman  e railed 
and  winked  both  eyes  with  evident  approba- 
tion and  admiration. 


"  My  dear  child,"  ehe  said,  with  the  accents 
of  one  who,  afflicted  wich  short  breath,  epoke 
through  a  half-choked  bugle-horn,  "aecuse 
me — I  wants  to  epeik  to  you  a  minLit,  which 
it  will  be  for  your  good,  I'm  sure ;  donV,  walk 
quite  so  fast.  There  ain'fc  no  partiklar  'urry, 
us  the  man  said  when  they  was  taking  him  to 
be  hanged— he,  he,  ha — which  a'course  it's 
wrong  in  a  foolish  old  thing  like  me  to  talk  in 
sich  a  vay  to  you ;  but  tb  ere,  I  see  you  re  dull, 
or  else  I  d  give  you  a  relighus  trac'  to  read.  I 
alias  carries  'em  about  viola  me.  *  The  sprink- 
lin'  aho  nrer  for  weak  blades'  ia  a  werry  neat 
thing  in  trac'e,  an'  werry  pooty,  werry  ppoty 
indeed,  and  chuckfull  ot  immoral  deflections, 
But  Lor'  I  can  eee  that  neither  o'  you  young 
gals  are  in  the  mind  to  read  such  tilings  jest 
now.  Trac's  is  werry  good  things  when  you've 
got  the  bile  w&rry  bad,  and  don't  want  nutbin' 
to  distrac'  your  mind,  you  can  eo  through  'em 
then,  from  A  to  amperseand,  and  think  of  lots 
of  other  things  as  wtll.  1 t  t-t-t-t-t,  what  Em  I 
talking  about  ?  Lor*  bless  m*,  you  will  think 
I've  gone  out  of  my  mind.  You  must  aecuse 
me,  but  I  want  to  have  a  word  or  two  with  you 
two  young,  poor,  forlorn  things." 

Floret  felt  an  instinctive  repugnance  to  the 
woman,  although  she  saw  that  the  evidently 
tried  to  make  her  tone  in  addressing  them 
both  kind  and  friendly.  She  therefore  said, 
coldJy: 

"  What  can  you,  Madam,  possibly  have  to 
say  to  myself  and  my  friend  ?" 
^  The  woman  again  glared  at  her  with  de- 
lighted admiration,  as  Fiortt,  keenly  sensitive 
of  her  forlorn  condition,  'Irew  herself  proudly 
up.  She  was  stung  to  fiad  that  her  apparel 
proclaimed  the  poverty  of  her  condition. 

"A  good  deal— a  good  deal!"  the  strange 
woman  responded,  quickly;  "werry  much 
more  to  your  advantage  than  you  aspects,  I 
know.  You're  born  to  be  a  Countess,  I'll 
swear;  only  dress  you  in  satins,  jewels,  and 
feathers,  and  there  isn't  a  court-lady  would 
come  near  you.  But  look  here,  we'll  talk 
about  that  by  an'  by.  Now,  I  wish  to  be  a 
friend  to  you  poor  litile  thing?,  an'  I'll  tell 
you  why !  I  happened  to  come  up  to  you  just 
as  you  was  asking  that  beast  of  a  hus^y  you 
was  talking  to  to  let  you  a  bed-room,  and  she 
refused.  Now,  I  suppose  you  are  strangers  in 
London?" 

"  We  are,"  said  Floret. 

"And  you  want  lodgings?"  continued  the 
woman,  looking  at  the  pair  with  a  emue,  bui 
with  the  eyes  of  a  vulture. 

"  TVe  do,"  responded  Fbret. 

"Yes — jes,"  rejoined  the  woman,  nodding 
her  head  ;  "  ar.d  YOU  ain't  prowided  wiih  ref- 
erences." 

'No,"  said  Floret,  dropping  her  head 
slightly. 

"  Respectable  ;  but  ain't  got  nobody  as  you 
could  azackly  give  at  a  minit's  noiice  to 
speak  to  jour  characters,  eh?"  artfully  sug- 
gested the  woman,  trying  to  make  her  face  re- 
>emble  as  little  as  possible  that  of  a  merciless 
)itd  of  prey. 


on,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


77 


"You  have  correctly  Burmiaed  our  situa- 
tioD,"  answered  Flcrtt. 

"  Besides,  you  have  your  reasons— quite  in- 
nocent vons,  I  am  sure  —  for  not  letting 
your  friends  know  where  you  are  for  a  little 
whi'e." 

I  Floret  bent  her  head,  but  did  notrefly. 
:  "  Ah ! — I  see,  I  see !"  said  the  woman,  quick- 
ly, and  with  well-affected  liberality  of  senti- 
ment. "  They've  been  unkind  to  you,  or  you 
have  displeased  them  in  some  trifling  way. 
They  have  been  harsh  to  you — and  have  re 
moved  yourselves  from  'em  for  a  short  time. 
Yes — yes,  it's  all  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  No^v, 
I  tell  you  what,  you've  been  an'  done  a  werry 
foolish  thing — a  werry  dangerous  thing,  lo 
come  up  here  to  London  alone  along  of  only 
your  two  selves.  It's  a  'orrible  place  Loadon 
10,  which  so  is  Paris ;  but  that's  seither  'ere 
uoi  there — I've  a  trac'  on  the  wickedness  of 
London — I  thinks  it  calb  it  Gomorror,  and 
pints  out  'ew  some  day  it  will  set  on  fire  with 
— with — the  stuff  they  makes  lucifer  matches 
on — it's  brimstone,  I  believe;  but  that  ain't 
the  name  I  means.  Never  mind,  but  what  I 
wants  to  say  is,  that  London  is  a  dreadful 
wicked  place,  and  it  isn't  one,  which  I  am  sure 
itain't  for  two  young,  friendless  gals  like  you 
to  wander  about  in.  Lor'  bless  you,  dears,  I've 
gals  of  my  own,  and  I  knows  the  duty  of  a 
mother  as  veil  as  any  yoman,  'ere  or  abroad, 
and  I'll  back  myself  at  odds  that  I'm  best  at 
it — but  what  am  I  say  in',  a  sickenin'  and  dis- 
gustin'  you  with  my  own  praises,  which  I 
oughtn't  to  praise  myself — for,  for  I've  enough 
as  does  it  for  me ;  but  what  I'm  goin'  to  eay  is, 
I  can't  bear  the  thoughts  of  you  two  poor  lit- 
tle dears  wandering  about  in  search  of  lodgin's, 
whioh  I  don't  think  you'll  get  any,  for  who, 
but  one  with  a  'art  like  mine,  would  let  you 
into  their  'ouses.  No — no,  this  is  a  hard,  sel- 
fbh,  unfeeling,  wicked  world,  and  the  best  of 
us  is,  as  one  of  my  trac's  says,  but  a  werry 
rank  piece  of  garbage.  "Well,  then,  I  'appen 
to  have  a  spare  bed- room  in  my  house,  which 
it  ain't  no  great  ways  from  here,  and  you  can 
have  that  until  you  go  back  to  your  friends,  or 
you  can  find  a  place  you  may  like  better  than 
mine,  and  where  it  will  suit  you  to  live.  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  eh  ?"  ' 

"  O,  how  kind  of  you— how  very  kind  of 
you!"  exclaimed  Ida,  in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of 
delight.  She  believed  the  dreadful  problem 
of  what  they  were  to  do  or  where  to  go  was 
thus  unexpectedly  solved,  and  solved  gratify- 
ingly,  for  certainly  a  woman  so  beautifully 
dressed  as  she  was  must  surely  own  a  nice 
house. 

Floret,  however,  hesitated.  She  recognized 
the  value  of  the  woman's  garments ;  but  her 
face,  her  form,  her  manner,  her  language,  was 
that  of  one  who  had  moved  in  society's  lowest 
grades;  and  though  she  could  not  compre- 
hend the  nature  of'  any  harm  which  could  at- 
tend them  through  accepting  this  person's 
seemingly  very  kind  invitation,  yet  some  small 
warning  voice  within  her  breast'eeemed  to  cry 
out  to  her : 


"  Avoid  this  creature ;  do  not  trust  yourself 
with  her.  If  you  do,  you  will  be  lost  for- 
ever." 

The  woman  obs3rved  her  hesitation;  she 
perceived,  too,  that  she  seemed  to  be  more 
experienced  and  more  reflective  than  Ida,  and 
she  said,  quickly  : 

"Don't  ma^e  any  mistake,  my  dear.  If 
you  think  lodgin's  is  easy  to  be  got,  and  peo- 
p'e  ia  eager  t J  take  in  young  gals  like  your- 
self, with  no  references  and  small  bundles, 
don't  you  listen  tome.  I  shan't  be  the  loser 
if  you  don't  take  my  offer ;  but  I  tell  you,  I'm 
a  mother  of  half-a-dozen  gale — nice  gals,  too, 
most  on  'em  c  Ider  than  yourself.  An'  it  would 
break  my  'art,  if  I  thought  any  ene  on  'em 
had  to  trapes  the  streets  of  London  in  search 
of  what  they  won't  find,  and  find  what  they 
warn't  search  on.  No,  Miss,  that's  my  only 
reason  in  makin'  you  the  offer  of  shelcer  for  a 
night  or  two  vith  a  comfortable  bedroom,  and 
the  company  of  some  nice  gals  about  your 
own  age.  Don't  come  if  you  don't  wish  ;  but 
if  you'd  be  adwised  by  me,  you'll  except  my 
offer.  I  should  ha'  jumped  at  it  had  I  been  a 
young  girl  athout  friends  in  London.  What 
do  you  say,  Miss  ?" 

The  last  question  was  addressed  to  Ida,  who 
instantly  replied — 

"  Oh !    I  think  it  is  so  very  kind." 

Ay!  that  was  it!  It  was  so  very  kind. 
Floret  had  not  previously  found  that  the  mem- 
bers of  the  world  were  so  kind  one  to  another 
— at  least  when  they  were  strangers  to  each 
other.  She  remembered  many  pithy  sen- 
tences of  the  Daddy,  which  went  to  show  that 
when  a  stranger  is  particularly  anxious  to 
serve  you,  distrust  him.  Violent  friendships, 
like  love,  are  never  worth  much  if  formed  at 
first  eight;  and  there  was  somethirg  in  this 
woman's>  singularly  generous  offer,  which, 
coupled  with  a  coarseness  of  manner  and  vul- 
garity of  speech,  made  Flora  shrink  from  ac- 
cepting it.' 

Yet  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself  that 
it  would  be  very  dime  alt  for  her  to  meet  with 
a  house  where  herself  and  Ida,  friendless  and 
unknown,  would  be  accepted  as  tenants,  and 
she  could  no j  comprehend  what  harm  could 
befall  either  of  them,  if  for  a  few  days  they 
accepted  the  generous  hospitality  tendered  to 
them  by  the  stranger. 

She  sighed  deeply  two  or  three  times,  and 
was  perplexed  what  to  do.  It  was  her  custom 
to  act  promptly,  and  to  adopt  the  course 
which,  at  the  first  blush,  seemed  to  be  the 
best.  Her  impulse  was  to  reject,  emphatical- 
ly, the  stranger's  offer. 

But^he  hesitated. 

The  woman  knew  the  value  to  her  of  that 
hesitation,  and  she  said,  quickly  : 

'•  There,  there,  go  your  ways,  child,  and  I 
will  go  mine.  I  only  made  you  a  offer  for 
your  good,  net  for  mine.  What  am  I  to  get 
for  takin'  you  in  an'  'owsin'  you,  an  ftedin' 
you,  an  sleepin'  you  ?  Satisfaction !  Yes, 
my  dear,  the  satisfaction  of  a  'art  which  knows 
as  it  haa  been  and  gone  and  done  its  duty. 


ra 


HAGAE  LOT ; 


I'm  ft  SuKftri'ftD,  I  em.  As  one  o'  them 
bootlful  tr*cX  whic*i  I'm  florry  I  l«ft  'eii  all 
at 'o  me,  e  y 8— it's  cnl^d,  I  thick,  "Bita  of 
Fat  for  Fimuhed  W.Jvts' —  I  was  'untjry,  an 
youfe  i  me ;  I  was  naked,  an*  you  olo\b«-xl  me. 
I  was  'ou^eless,  and  you  touk  me  ia  '  Taii»'ll 
be  m7  stt»ief*ction.  V«n  you  leaves  mo,  you'll 
liesm*,  »n' say  that  to  iue,  and  I  shall  hive 
the  wirtuous  'appioes*  o' kaowia'  that  I  did 
take  you  ia  an1  clothe  you,  an'  all  tiiat,  and 
i  that  will  be  ray  reward." 

Ida  placed  her  hand  on  Floret'0  shoulder, 
and  a  till  to  her  : 

"Shill  we  not  go  with  this  kind  lady? 
Wheat  we  settle,  and  are  able  to  work,  we  can 
soon  repay  htr  for  her  goodness,  you  know, 
dear  E  nth." 

"Id  i«  yourwisli,  Id*,  that  we  should  accept 
this  obligation?  '  inquired  Floret  of  her,  m  a 
low  tone,  bat  impressively. 

«'  I  ana  so  dgected,  so  miserable,  in  our 
present  incertitude,"  answered  Ida. 

"Hive  you  no  feeling  rieioar  up  in  your 
bosom  which  urges  you  to  decline  the  proffer 
this  l*dy  BO  very  kiadly  makes  to  us  ?  '  fine 
continued,  in  the  same  earnest  tone. 

Id*  mai'e  an  uneney  kind  of  movement,  as 
if  she  was  perplexed  in  her  mind,  bat  jtt 
ready  to  take  what  appeared  to  her  to  be  the 
least  of  two  evils. 

I*  *e  reject  it,  what  are  «ie  to  do?1'  she  in- 
quire 0,  anxiously. 

44 We  are  in  the  hands  of  Heaven!"  ex- 
claimed Floret,  in  a  tone  which  chilled  Ida's 
heart,  it  was  eo  like  that  of  one  who  had 
parted  with  every  hope. 

Toe  woman  overheard  every  word  they  lit- 
tered, though  she  pretended  not  to  listen  to 
them;  but  as  Floret  uttered  this  ejaculation, 
she  turned  to  Ler,  and  Biid  • 

•'  If  we  wusn't  in  the  Bfcreet,  I'd  throw  my 
arms  round  jour  dear  neck,  andkies  you,  my 
child.  Well,  if  nothing  cornea  on  ir.,  I  am 
werry  glad  I  made  j  ou  the  offer,  and  I  ain't  a 
bit  angry  that  y~u  doesn't  jump  at  it.  No,  I 
respect*  an  adiu/t.1  you  both,  because  you 
hangs  back  abo  "•:  comin'  home  vith  me 
Quite  rijjht,  my  dears — quite  right,  for  you 
knovs  nothin'  of  me  any  more  than  I  does  of 
you,  an',  therefore,  why  should  you  trust  me  ? 
Well,  there'a  no  harm  done,  is  there?  an'  so, 
good-bye,  icy  deara,  and  I  hope  that  you'll 
find  lod^in'a— before  the  veek's  out,  I'd  al- 
most said,  but  before  twelve  o'clock  to-night 
comes,  and  the  perHceman  locks  you  up  for 
wanderipg  about  the  streets  as  rogues  and 
wagatones.  Cyod-bye !"  She  turned  slowly 
away,  but  Ida  gently  arrested  her. 

"ci  ay  for  a  moment,  if  you  please, 
Madam,"  ehe  exclaimed.  "I  do — I  do  not 
think  that  we  have  yet  decided." 

"Ah,  but  you  must  be  quick, my  dear,  for 
I  can't  wait,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  slight 
trace  of  sharpness  in  her  voice.  "  You  must 
remember,  I  am  trying  to  do  you  a  kindness, 
and  you  can't  expect  me  to  wait  here  all  <?av, 
while  you're  thinking  whether  you'll  a«cept~it 
or  not." 


Ida  looked  beswclnncly  at  Flo^t,  ftis3  Flo- 
ret a'lDOft  imnteriatfc'y  o«i  1  f.j  ihe  woman  : 

*'Y«'U  wi.t  txcttte  oor  reluctance ;  bus  we 
era  tuch  e'ni^era  to  Lotidoa  atd  i  *  ways, 
that  we  do  not  kaoir  renily  what  it  improper 
to  do;  Bii.l,  you  have  made  to  us  an  offer 
which  eeeojs  to  be  dictated  in  a  spins  of  moth- 
erly femdneee— " 

"Of  course,"  interposed  the  woman; 
11  motherly  kindness,  that's  all — 'uiu'fc  nothing 
else !" 

"  Aa  offer,  which  at  this  moment  would  b« 
un«peak»bly  accepted  by  u?,  if  we  felt  quite 
certain  that  we  eight  to  avail  ourselves  of  it," 
continued  Floret;  "  but  we  are  all  of  us  sub- 
ject  to  be  placed  in  situations  in  which  it  ia 
necessary  to  judge  for  ourselves  the  path  to 
take,  which  leads  either  to  good  or  evil ;  and 
we  too  often  err  in  the  selection.  In  this  case, 
the  choice  fee ms  simple  enough,  and  we  will 
tlect  to  make  that  which  will  place  us  beneath 
your  roof  until  we  are  able  to  obtain  a  small 
and  humble  home  for  ourselves.  And  at  the 
same  time,  I  do  not  know  how  to  be  sufficient- 
ly graufai  to  you  for  the  goodness  which  has 
led  you  to  take  such  notice  of  us,  and  to  prof- 
fer to  us  service  which  at  this  moment  is  par- 
ticularly valuable  to  us." 

"  Don't  say  another  word,  my  dears,"  ex- 
claimed the  old  woman,  with  a  emile  of  ex- 
treme gratification.  "  We*  are  not  far  from  my 
home,  and  when  we  gets  there  you'll  find 
yourselves  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May." 

A  cab  happened  to  be  paseisg  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  the  old  woman  hailed  the  driver, 
who,  being  disengaged,  drew  up  hia  vehicle, 
which  was  made  to  carry  four,  to  the  kerb 
stone. 

••  I  can't  walk  far,"  ehe  said,  as  a  kind  of  ex- 
cuse for  engaging  the  vehicle,  "  and,  besides,  I 
daresay  you  gals  are  sick  of  carrying  your 
bundles." 

They  all  got  in,  and  the  cabman,  with  a  pe- 
culiar grin,  said  to  the  stout  woman  : 

"To  the  'stablishmenfc,  I  s'pose,  mum?" 

"  Yes,  home  ;  private  door,  cabby,"  she  re- 
turned. 

Toesa  observations  grated  on  Floret's  ear, 
and  she  seemed  to  feel  that  she  was  committing 
an  error ;  but  a  glance  at  Ida's  face  reassured 
her,  it  looked  so  pleased  and  smiling.  A 
thought  ran  through  her  mind  that  it  was  her 
own  deep-seated  unhappinees  which  gav«  a 
gloomy  tone  to  her  impressions,  and  she  tried 
to  m»ke  kerttlf  believe  that  the  meeting  with 
the  singular  woman  whom  they  were  artcom- 
panying  home  was  an  interposition  of  Provi- 
dence in  their  favor. 

They  reached,  after  a  short  drive,  a  street, 
in  which  the  houses  had  a  particularly  new 
aspect,  and  were  apparently  of  a  very  respect- 
able class.  At  the  eide  entrance  of  one  of 
them,  the  cab-driver  <?rew  up,  and  alighting, 
rang  a  email  bell  which  was  let  ia  the  door- 
posts, and  over  which  was  painted  the  word 
'•servants". 

Tne  door  was  opened  by  a  man  who  waa 
dressed  in  a  green  livery  adorned  with  silver 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


79 


lac*,  hut  *e  wis,  revcrtheles*,  not  a  etnar*- 
ItKifcipc;  mm  II  a  had  ebur',  dull  red  hair,  a 
lovr  t'o«-eht*-td,  friuall  eyes,  high  c'ae«k-bones 
j  tw-bonta  and  chin  ;  wis  of  a  yellow 
f'l-xioD,  and  profusely  pock-fritttn.  He 
was  f  qaare  built,  aod  was  evidently  pos^peed 
of  *  reals'  rent^th,  and  looked  very  much  more 
like  a  p-iz*"figbtcr  than  a  page. 
'  He  glaiced  quickly,  furtively,  and  ecrutiniz- 
iogU  t»t  ibe  girls  a.)  tbey  entered,  but  made  a 
•bo?  of  reppect,  whicb,  however,  was  both 
slovenly  and  awkwardly  done;  and  then  he 
Went  out  and  paid  the  cabman  hia  fare,  whi.e 
the  s  out  woman  conducted  Floret  and  Ida  up 
ft  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  and  passed  through  a 
door,  whicn  admitted  them  to  a  spacious 


Both  Floret  and  Ida  were  s  ruck  with,  sur- 
prise. Beneaih  them  deeceoded  a  wide  stair- 
case, carpeted  and  drugeeted,  to  the  h«l'» 
which  was  capacious,  and  contained  hall- 
chairs,  table,  and  handsome  mat's.  Oa  each 
tide  of  the  door  were  stained-glass  windows, 
from  tee  ceiling  depended  a  huge  lamp  of 
•tailed  glass  and  ormolu,  and  ranged  agaicst 
the  wall  were  short  pillars  of  variegated  mar- 
bles, upon  which  were  soulptured  busts  of  fe- 
males. Above  them  the  stairs  ascended,  car- 
peted and  drugeted  in  the  same  handsome 
fashion,  the  hand-rails  being  of  polished  ma- 
hogany, and  the  balustrades  of  pure  white, 
picked  out  with  gold. 

It  was  clear  that  the  house  was  beautifully 
furnished,  and  belonged  to  some  ore  petsessed 
of  ample  means.  Floret  felt  frightened  —  the 
did  not  comprehend  why  —  and  Ida  felt  awei 
Instinctively,  without  knowing  wherefore,  ehe 
wisbf  d  herBblf  far  away. 

"  Now,  deara,"  said  the  old  woman,  in  a 
bustling,  cheery  tone,  "1  11  take  you  into  the 
bedroom  of  my  youngest  gal  ;  she's  out,  I 
know  ;  but  you  can  put  yourself  to  rights  a 
bit  thsre,  while  I  order  a  room  to  be  got  ready 
for  you." 

S  j  eaj  ing,  she  conducted  them  up  another 
flight  of  stairs,  and  opening  a  room-door,  she 
Ushered  tbem  in. 

Is  was  a  bedroom,  furnished  with  almost 
regal  magnificence  It  was  carpeted  with  a 
rich,  yitJaiag  Turkey  carpet.  Tae  bedstead 
—  a  massive  rosewood  Arabian,  superbly 
carved  —  was  decorated  with  pale  blue  and 
whre-flowered  satin  furriture,  lined  witn 
white;  the  coverlec  was  of  white  quilted  silk, 
ed^ed  wuh  lace  ;  and  the  pillows  were  covered 
wi  h  cases  of  lawn,  edged  with  lace.  The 
toilet-glass  and  table  and  the  cheval-glass 
were  trimmed  'with  white  muslia  and  Jace- 
.,  There  were  eaey-chaira  and  couches,  covered 
'  with  the  same  pale  blue  and  white-  flowered 
Batin  damask. 

BuS  although  the  room  was  beautifully  and 
luxuriantly  furnished,  there  was  a  curious  air 
of  loose  disorder  reigning  about  it,  w^ich  de- 
teriorated its  magnificence  greatly.  Upon  the 
toilet  table  were  China  pots,  exquisitely  paint- 
ed, cut-glass  bottles  of  all  colors,  paper  boxes, 
of  many  kinds,  brushes  of  all  sizes, 


band-glae?e8,  soiled  gloves,  jewelry  of  various 
kinds,  from  maesive  chsina,  brooches,  brace- 
f  ta,  to  a  ^lain  and  apparently  valueless  ring. 
Deid  end  djing  flowers  were  s»r«wed  about, 
mixed  up  wi  h  cards  of  address,  ail  huddled 
together  in  strange  confusion. 

About  the  room,  flung  upon  chairs  or 
coucbec,  and  upon  the  floor,  were  articles  of 
female  attire.  Some  were  superb  eilfe  robes, 
others  were  petticoats  and  various  kinds  of 
underclothing  ;  while  in  corners  were  many 
pairs  of  femate  boots  and  shoes — white,  bronze, 
and  black — of  various  makes.  Tbero  were 
slippers,  too,  of  fancy  materials,  thrown  heed- 
lessly about;  and,  in  short,  numberless  things 
all  lying  about  in  disorder,  as  if  the  owner  did 
not  prize  them,  and  had  cast  them  from  her, 
n  weariness  and  disgust,  the  moment  she  had 
iremoved  them  from  her  person. 

The  eld  woman  noticed  the  look  of  surprise 
wi  h  which  Ida  and  Floret  observed  the  state 
of  the  apartment,  and  said,  hastily  : 

'*  My  Florence  is  such  a  careless,  reckless 
crea'ure — and  she  takes  no  pride  in  anything ; 
ufcver  minds  a  bit  what  they  costes,  but  tosses 
'em  'ere  an'  there,  jeet  as  the  humor  seizes  her. 
\h !  I  tells  her  often  enough,  light  corae, 
light  go — she'll  live  to  waot  'em !  You  see, 
dears,  she's  a  beautiful  gal,  an'  a  wonderful  fa- 
vorite with  the  gentlemen.  We've  werry  fast- 
rate  connections,  who  calls-to  eee  us — c'ukes 
and  lorda,  I  assure  you— an'  tbey  none  of  'em 
comts  vithout biingicg  Florence aooold  brace- 
let or  a  dimint  brooch,  at  least.  But  we  can't 
stay  here.  The  room  I  intends  to  put  you  in 
can't  be  more  untidy  than  this ;  and  it'll  be 
jour  own,  gals,  'till!  can  get  you  a  better  one 
ready." 

She  rang  a  bell  at  the  •  ide  of  the  fireplace 
eharply,  and  almost  immediately  a  woman* 
about  thhty  years  of  ege,  appeared  at  the 
door.  She  was  rather  untidily  dressed,  and 
looked  en1  low,  as  tnough  late  bights  were  the 
rule  of  her  life. 

'*  la  the  peach  room  a  little  tidy  ?"  inquired 
the  Ptout  woman  of  her.  , 

"  Yes'm,"  she  said,  quickly  ;  "  we've  been 
eettin'  it  to  rights,  and  we've  jest  finished 
it." 

'« O,  I'm  glad  of  that!"  she  remarked,  with  a 
pleased  smile.  "  Go  an'  get  the  door  open, 
we  want  to  occupy  it,  don'c  we,  dears?" 

Floret  and  Ida  did  not  reply;  they  both 
felt  a  growing  uneasiness,  which  everything 
they  saw  tended  to  increase.    Tue  old  woman, 
however,  did  not  wait  for  their  answer,  but  j. 
she  conducted  them  to  the  "  peach  room".         ,r! 

^On  entering  it,  they  found  that  it  was  fur- 
nished in  a  very  much  humbler  style  than  the , ,. 
one  they  had  just  quitted,  but  it  waa  very, 
clean  and  in  perfect  order.  It  presented  a  very 
favorable  contrast  to  the  first  one.  » 

''Now,  loves,  you  can  make  yourselves  at 
home  here  for  a  day  or  two,"  observed  the 
'•  Samaritan".  "  We  shall  do  something  bet- 
ter for  you  by  and  bje  You  will  call  me, 
while  jou  stay,  mother.  What  shall  I  cajl 
you?" 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


"  My  natne  is  I<3a,  and  my  dear,  dear  friend's 
came  is  Edith,"  said  Ida,  readily. 

«« Very  pooty  names,"  said  the  stout  lady, 
musingly ;  "  but  tbey'll  do,  I  <3ara  say. 
Blanche  ia  more  of  a  favorite  than  Edith ;  bat 
never  iniud,  we'll  talk  about  that  by.and  by. 
Uow,  deire,  1 11  sead  you  up  something  to  eat, 
and  mind  what  I  say  to  you.  Don't  on  no  ac- 
count let  anybody  into  your  room  but  me  and 
Bar  ih,  and  don't,  on  any  account  whatever, 
come  out  of  your  room  without  my  express 
permission;  keep  your  door  locked  inside,  dears 
— keep  your  door  locked  and  bolted.  I'll  tell 
you  why  another  time.  Mike  yourselves  at 
home,  dears.  I'll  come  back  to  you  by  and 
by.  Good-bye  for  the  present —  good-bye, 
loves.  I'll  eend  Sarah  up  with  some  cold 
chicken  and  a  bottle  of  sherry  for  you  in  half 
A  twink— good-bje,  loves.  Be  sure  you  keep 
your  door  locked  and  bolted  I" 

And  with  the  last  admonition  on  her  lips, 
she  waddled  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  her. 

"This  is  a  strange  placet"  exclaimed 
Floret,  gazing  around  her,  and  speaking  re- 
flectively. 

"  I  am  frightened  !"  said  Ida,  throwing  her 
arms  about  her  neck.  «kl  wish  we  had  not 
come  into  it!" 

CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Let  us  go  forth  and  tread  down  fate  together, 
We'll  be  cotnpinions  of  the  ghastly  winds  ; 
Laugh  loud  at  hunger ;  conquer  want ;  outcurse 
The  fierceness  cf  the  howling  wilderness. 
Firm  here,  or  bolder  coward,  that's  our  way. 
He  who  gives  back  a  foot,  gives  vantage-ground 
To  whatsoever  is  his  enemy."— BAERT  COENWALL. 

Nature,  at  the  same  time  tbat  she  provides 
Innocence  with  a  sense  of  impending  evil — not 
always,  alas !  a  protecting  instinct — sometimes 
also  furrdsbes  her  with  a  feeling  of  repugnance 
to  the  object  from  whom  the  evil  is  likely  to 
come.  Ida  ?*garded  the  professions  of  the 
woman  who  lesired  that  she  might  be  called 
"  mother",  as  those  of  one  who  was  truly  Chris- 
tian and  philanthropic,  and  in  her  desolate 
condition  she  was  most  anxious  to  avail  her- 
self of  all  they  promised,  for  just  so  long  as  it 
might  take  to  get  herself  and  Floret  fairly 
started  in  the  world.  In  spite,  nevertheless, 
of  her  solicitude  to  follow  what  appeared  sim- 
ply to  be  the  counsels  of  prudence  and  com- 
mon sense,  there  was  something  in  the  look 
and  manner  of  the  woman  who  had  affected 
the  display  of  such  disinterested  generosity, 
which  made  her  shrink  from  her  with  a  shud- 
der, and  to  regard  her  with  an  indefined 
species  of  loathing,  for  which  she  inwardly  re- 
proved heraelf,  and  whidh,  the  more  she  tried 
to  reason  mentally  against  it,  seemed  to  grow 
stronger. 

Floret  was  affected,  too,  but  not  exactly  in 
the  same  fashion.  From  the  moment  that  half 
a  dozen  sentences  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of 
the  woman  who  had  allured  them  beneath  her 
roof,  she  mistrusted  her. 

Floret,  therefore,  within  a  few  minutes 
after  the  departure  o  the  hostess,  decided 


that  they  ought  to  follow  the  prornptirga  oil 
their  instincts,  and  quit  their  new-found  asy- 
lum at  occ3,  without  farther  consideration  of 
the  matter. 

In  compliance  with  the  "mother's"  sugges- 
tions, Ida  had,  on  her  quitting  the  room,  im- 
pulsively locked  and  bolted  the  door.    Floret  I 
now  unfastened  it  without  noise,  so  that  they 
might  quietly  depart  from  the  house,  avoid  all  i 
discussion  with  the  "mother", and als:> a  meet- 
ing with  any  of  her  daughters,  if  they  should 
happen  to  be  moving  about  the  house. 

To  Floret's  dismay,  she  found  tbat  the  door 
was  fastened  without;  as  well  as  inside,  and  that 
tuc  lock  which  was  placed  on  the  oureide  bad 
no  connection  with  that  she  had  been  instruct- 
ed to  use  for  tbcir  protection.  She  used  all 
her  strength  to  force  the  door,  but  without 
making  at y  impression  upon  it.  Ida  knb  her': 
assistance,  but  with  no  better  effect.  They 
were  locked  in,  and  escape  from  the  door  was, 
therefore,  for  the  present,  at  least,  impracti- 
cable. 

They  now  discovered,  for  the  first  time,  and 
greatly  to  their  surprise,  that  there  were  no 
windows  to  their  room.  It  was  lighted  by  what 
is  termed  a  lantern  ceiling,  which,  while  it  fill- 
ed from  above  the  room  with  quite  as  much, 
if  not  more,  light  than  the  ordinary  mode,  was 
yet  inaccessible  to  the  reach  without  a  tall  lad- 
der, and  it  had  the  advantage  of  not  being 
overlooked  from  any  other  building. 

Ida  was  disposed  to  give  way  to  hysterical 
terror,  but  Floret's  courage  rose  with  the  oc- 
caeion.  She  was  conscious  that,  with  resolute 
energy  and  determined  will,  a  tolerable  oppo- 
sition might  be  set  up  against  any  attempt  to 
coerce  them  into  acts  which  would  be  repug- 
nant to  their  dispositions,  and  to  their  knowl- 
edge of  right.  She  was  conscious,  too,  that 
their  power  to  act  would  be  impeded  and  ham- 
pered by  useless  tears  and  by  vague  fears, 
none  of  which  wight  have  the  least  fouodation 
in  fact.  She  ;h«refore  nerved  herself  to  face 
the  new  trial  she  vras  called  upon  to  encoun- 
ter, and  applied  herself  at  once  to  the  task  of 
calming  Ida's  agitation,  and  of  urging  her  to 
exert  all  the  courage  she  possessed,  in  order 
that,  the  mcment  an  oppprtuni  y  of  deliver- 
ing themselves  from  their  present  singular 
thralldom  arrived,  they  might  be  prepared  to 
seize  it. 

While  thus  engaged  *h*v  heard  a  key  turn- 
ed in  the  lock  wither"1  flowed  by  a  gentle 
taping  at  the  door.  ^  .<i*  urned  as  white  as 
death,  and  shrunk  timidly  a  few  paces  back 
from  the  spot  on  which  she  had  been  standing. 
Floret,  on  the  contrary,  although  she  felt  her 
heart  beat  rapidly,  approached  the  door  and 
listened.  The  tapping,  after  a  moment's  ces- 
sation, was  repeated,  and  then  a  voice  whisper- 
ed, through  the  keyhole : 

"  Young  ladies,  be  good  enough  to  let  me 
in." 

The  knocking  was  again  repeated,  and  the 
same  voice  Repeated : 

"  Don't  be  afeard,  young  ladies,  it's  only  me, 
Sarah ;  I've  brought  something  for  jou." 


OB,  TEE  FATE  OF  THE  POOH  GIRL. 


81 


Floret,  then,  catching  up  her  email  bundle, 
motioning  Ua  to  join  her  with  hers,  which  she 
did  wilh  alacrity,  cautiously  opened  the  dosr. 
Too  cautiously,  as  it  happened,  for  the  eerv 
Ant,  S*rah,  gViied  in  vita  a  tray,  and  giving 
the  door  a  smart  kick  back  with  her  heel,  it 
closed  *i'h  a  loud  click. 

Floret  instantly,  however,  tnrned  the  handle ; 
but  the  door  was  fast :  she  could  not  open  it. 

The  seivant,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  ob- 
served her,  and  a  curious  smile  of  satisfaction 
pursed  up  her  lips.  Bhacid  not  say  any  thin?, 
however,  until  she  had  placed  the  tray,  •which 
contained  a  very  attractive-looking  email  re- 
past., upon  the  table,  and  then  she  turned  and 
survived  ihem  both. 

"  Well,  la  I  I  declare,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
affected  wonder,  "why, yen  haven  t  never  taken 
off  jour  bonnets  and  cloaks,  and  put  them 
nasty  troublesome  little  bundles  out  of  your 
hands  since  you  have  been  here.  How  angry 
missus  would  be  if  she  were  to  know  ir." 

""We  are  much  obliged  to  your  mistress  for 
her  kind  intentions  toward  us,"  observed 
Floret,  with  a  serious  and  decided  tone ;  '•  but, 
after  Eome  very  careful  and  anxious  consider- 
ation, we  have  decided  not  to  trouble  her 
further,  and  to  take  our  departure  from  this 
ho  so." 

The  woman  gazed  at  her,  and  raised  her 
hands  with  well  simulated  amazement. 

"Well,  I  never!"  fihe  exclaimed.  "What, 
do  you  mean  to  say  you  want  to  go  away  be- 
fore you  have  had  a  chance  cf  knowing  what  a 
charming  place  you  are  in?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ida,  urgently ;  "  please  to  let  us 
go.  We  have  no  desire  to  stay  here  a  moment 
longer — even  if  it  were  twenty  tknes  more 
chartring  than  you  intimate  that  it  is." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  go,  young  ladies?' 
Inquired  the  woman,  artfully.  "  Has  anything 
happened  to  disturb  you  since  you  have  come 
here?  If  BO,  herhaps  I  can  explain  it.  You 
came  here  of  your  own  free  wills — didn't 
you?" 

"  I  cannot  see,"  responded  Floret,  coldly 
"that  it  is  necessary  to  furnish  you  with  any 
explanation  of  the  cause  which  makes  us  wish 
to  depart.  It  must  be  surely  enough  for  you 
at  least,  that  we  wish  to  leave." 

11  No,  young  lacy,  it  is  not  I"  returned  the 
aervant,  emphatically.    "Missus  has  behaved 
very  kind  to  both  of  you,  and  you  knew  it 
but  sbe  hasn't  yet  had  the  chance  of  being 
half  nor  a  quarter  BO  kind  as  she  intends  to  be 
and,  therefore,  if  I  was  to  let  you  go  away 
without  giving  her  any  rhyme  or  reason  for  it 
what  do  you  think  she'd  say  to  me  ?    She  ain" 
used  to  have  her  Mildness  flung  in  her  face  in 
ithis  way,  and  I  ain'fc  going  to  be  no  party  to  it 
4  so  you'd  both  of  you  better  take  off  your  bon 
nets  and  cloaks,  and  eit  down  to  that  beautifu 
cold  chicken  and  sbwry,  which  I  have  brough 
you  by  miesueses  orders,  for  I  certainly  shan' 
let  you  go  away  without  she  bids  me  to  it !" 

"  Where  is  your  mistress?"  inquired  Floret 
in  a  commanding  tone,  which  did  not  fceem  t 
&OTO  any  effect  upon  me  woman. 


Gone  out,"  ehe  said,  pertly. 

We  are  to  be  prisoners  here,  I  am  to  nnder- 
tand?"  said  Flcret,  sternly. 
The  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  Prisoners  is  strong  words ;  but  you  cer- 
ainl/  won't  be  allowed  to  go  away  until  she 
omes  back,"  she  replied  ;  and  when  that  will 
)e,  ia  quite  uncertain.    She  might  return  in  an 
our  ;  she  might  not  come  back  for  a  week,  if 
ny  thing  unexpected  tcok  her  off  in  the  cotm-; 
ry  »  BO  J°u  youcg  ladies  had  better  make  up 
our  minds  to  be  contented  and  happy.    You 
will  be  well  taken  care  of  here ;  you  may  rest 
ure  of  that.    Take  off  your  things— do,  there's 
dear,  good  ladies,  and  eat  your  lunch  ;  it  will 
do  you  good,  and  it  can't  do  you  no  harm. 
You  may,  when  you  think  of  it,  just  as  well 
ake  it,  because  nothing  whatever  can  be  dona 
until  missus  ccmes  back." 

Floret  turned  away  from  her  without  reply. 
She  was  perplexed.  She  knew  not  what  etep 
to  take.  The  woman  folio  wed"  her,  and,  in  a 
coaxing  tone,  said  :  j 

'  Do  take  my  advice,  make  yourselves  com- 
fortable, and  when  missus  comes  home,  no 
doubt,  if  you  wants  to  go,  ehe'll  let  you  go."  : 

'Do  you  refuse  to  permit  us  to  leave  this 
place?"  inquired  Floret,  turning  sharply  to 
her,  and  speaking  with  excitement. 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I'm  but  a  poor, 
servant,  and  must  do  what  I  am  told  by  those, 
who  employ  me." 

She  suddenly  darted  to  the  door,  and,  with' 
dexterity,  used  a  small  key,  opened  the  spring- j 
lock,  glided  through  the  partly-opened  door, 
fastened  it  after  her,  and  descended  swiftly  to, 
the  lower  part  of  the  house. 

What  was  now  to  be  done  ;  they  were  locked 
in  as  before,  and  their  chance  of  departure. 
more  remote  than  ever. 

Again  and  again  they  discussed  their  posi- 
tion. Why  were  they  locked  in  ?  If  the  mia-i 
tress  of  the  house  had  no  other  than  kind  in- 
tentions toward  them,  why  not  giv  them  the: 
liberty  of  moving  freely  about  the  house,  or  att 
least  theyipportunity  of  movirg  freely  abow 
the  housefjpr  at  least  the  opportunity  of  enter- 
ing  even  one  of  the  sitting-rooms.  Why  con-| 
fine  them  at  the  top  of  the  house?  Why  bid] 
them  lock  and  bolt  their  chamber-door,  and 
refuse  admittance  to  all  persons  except  hereelf 
and  her  servant?  What  persons?  Of  whom 
were  they  to  be  afraid— and  why  would  they; 
have  occasion  to  fear  them  ? 

It  may  be  easily  understood  how  difficult 
both  Floret  and  Ida  found  it  to  furnish  an  an- 
swer to  even  one  of  these  questions,  and  how 
wretched  and  bewildered  their  fruiiless  endeav- 
ors left  them. 

Forlorn,  helpless,  and  friendless,  nothing  ': 
was  left  to  them  but  to  wait  the  issue  of  events. !  i 
Neither  of  them  touched  the  food  which  had  | 
been  brou-ght  to  them.    They  seemed  by  tacit  ' 
consent  to  shun  it — they  sat  close  to  each  ' 
other,  hand  in  hand,  conferring  in  a  tow  tone,' 
and  wearying  their  already  aching  brains  by 
profitless  speculations. 

The  day  wore  on  long  aacl  drearily,  And  the 


82 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


gradual  diminution  of  light  from  above  told 
them  that  the  sun  was  rapidly  sinking  in  the 
west,  and  wou'd,  no  donbt,  go  down  and  leave 
them  in  darkness,  and  still  in  their  priaon- 
chamber.  They  were  faint  from  long  fasting  ; 
but  they  did  cot  even  look  at  the  food — tempt- 
ing as  it  really  appeared — they  only  wept  in 
each  other's  arms,  when  the  prospect  of  escape 
became  hopeless,  and  prayed  earnestly  for  the 
interposition  of  Heaven  to  effect  that  deliver- 
ance which  seemed  denied  to  them  by  human 
Agency. 

And  while  thus  tearfully  engaged,  the  fra- 
grant odor — fragrant  to  the  olfactory  sense  of 
the  famished — of  a  rich  dinner  being  cooked, 
1  gradually  permeated  through  the  o.re vices  of 
the  door  ond  the  keyhole,  and  filled  the  apart- 
ment. They  guessed  that  the  dining-hour 
,  was  approaching,  and  they  imagined  that  the 
•woman  who  had  inveigled  them  into  her 
clutches  would  probably  return  to  her  home, 
visit  their  chamber,  and  finding  them  resolute- 
ly bent  on  not  remaining  beneath  her  roof, 
would  ihrow  open  their  prison- doors,  and  suf- 
fer them  to  depart. 

But  no,  some  time  elapsed,  and  no  foot- 
steps approached  their  room,  although  they 
listened  with  intense  and  breathless  attention. 

But,  though  disappointed  in  their  yearning 
wishes,  though  no  sound  reached  their  earf, 
they  almost  imperceptibly  discovered  that  the 
pleasant  odor  of  viands  being  cooked  was 
changing  into  a  smoky  scent.  Shortly  after- 
ward, they  noticed  a  dull,  suffocating  vapor 
gradually  filling  the  apartment,  impeding 
th«ir  breathing,  and  obscuring  their  vision. 

And  in  the  direction  of  the  chimney-piece, 
they  heard  a  dull,  booming,  roaring  sound,  as 
though  a  michty  wind  waa  tearing  up  the  ad- 
joining chimney. 

And  then  a  strange  red  glare  seemed  to 
spread  itself  over  their  room  from  the  lantern- 
window  above  ;  and,  looking  up,  they,  to  their 
horror,  beheld  large  volumes  of  smoke  rolling 
and  wreathing  in  dense  masses  around  their 
window-panes,  in  which  were  perceptible  large 
flakes  of  incandescent  matter. 

Then,  within  the  house  there  suddenly  rose 
tip  a  succession  of  piercing  shrieks,  the  hurry- 
ing of  feet,  and  the  slamming  violently  of 
doors. 

And  without  the  house,  and  in  the  streets, 
there  was  a  hoarse  roar  of  voices,  some  shrill 
cries,  and  the  rolling  of  some  heavy  vehicles. 

A  frightful  conviction  flashed  through  the 
minds  of  both. 

The  t  ouse  was  on  fire ! 

Simultaneously  they  rushed  at  the  door,  and 
pulled  at  the  handle.  It  was  still  locked  on 
the  outside.  With  all  their  strength  they 
shook  it,  tugged  at  it,  dashed  their  feet  against 
the  panel,  but  without  making  the  slightest 
impression  upon  it. 

They  screamed  for  help — screamed  with  the 
energy  of  a  mad  despair.  They  had  a  few 
minutes  previously  tacitly  wished  for  death  to 
relieve  them  from  their  afflictions — and  here 
it  was  advancing  in  its  most  terrible  form,  act- 


ually staring  them  in  the  faoe,  and  they  tried, 
with  frantic  endeavors,  to  escape  from  its  hor- 
rible embrace. 

But  they  both  became  exhausted,  powerkrs, 
almost  senseless  ;  and  the  door  remained  slill 
firm  against  any  and  every  effort  to  force  it. 

The  roaring  sound  in  the  chimney  increased 
frightfully ;  the  wild  confusion  within  the 
house  itself,  mingled  as  it  was  with  yells  and 
screams,  grew  demoniac  ;  the  tumult  without 
the  house  each  moment  became  greater — 
sounds,  as  of  some  violent  battering,  were 
added  to  the  disorder,  end,  within  their  cham- 
ber, the  vapor  grew  slowly  but  surely  denser^ 
and  more  impossible  of  being  breathed  ;  but 
no  footsteps  approached  their  chamber  to 
save  them,  no  friepdly  hand  unlocked  the  door 
to  afford  them  th»  opportunity  of  flying  for 
their  lives. 

Ida  became  rapidly  almost  delirious.  Flo- 
ret, at  the  first  moment  that  a  conviction  that 
the  flou?c  was  on  fire  took  possession  of  her, 
felt  half  frenzied,  but  as  the  impossibility  of 
escape,  and  the  certainty  of  death  swiftly 
forced  themselves  upon  her  mind,  she  did  not 
hesitate,  but  twined  her  arms  about  Ida,  forced 
her  upon  her  knees,  and  bade  her  join  with 
her  in  earnest  prayer  to  Him  in  whose  dread 

Eresence  they  would  probably  shortly  stand,, 
nploring  Him  to  receive  their  souls  merci- 
fully. 

It  was  hard  to  die  so  young — hard  to  die  a 
death  BO  frightful— »J)ut  there  appeared  to  be 
no  help  for  It,  and  Ida,  awakened  to  a  sense 
that  her  last  moments  w«re  at  hand,  mingled 
her  prayers  with  Floret's,  and  tried  to  meet 
the  apparently  inevitable  result  with  calmness, 
resignation,  and  a  firm  hope  that,  with  thie 
last  fiery  ordeal,  their  trials  and  their  sorrows 
would  end  for  ever — and  ever. 

Their  power  to  breathe  was  fast  departing, 
their  eyesight  was  leaving  them,  in  their  ears 
only  w&s  one  wild,  rushing,  ringing  sound ; 
they  were  sinking  gradually  into  that  sleep 
from  which  they  would  never  awaken  on 
earth,  when  they  were  both  startled  by  a  tre- 
mendous crash  upon  the  door,  close  to  which 
they  were  kneeling.  « 

It  was  followed  by  a  hoarse  yoiee  without, 
exclaiming,  in  loud  tones  : 

"  Is  there  any  one  in  this  room  ?" 

Both  Floret  and  Ida  tried  to  scream,  but 
their  mngs  were  full  of  smoke,  and  they  could 
make  no  sound.  They  each,  with  the  desperate 
endeavors  which  a  renewed  hope  of  life  Would 
make  them  employ,  repeated  their  attempts, 
but  vainly. 

They  heard  the  question  which  had  partly 
resuscitated  them  repeated  urgently,  accompa- 
nied by  seme  heavy  blows  on  the  door;  acd 
then  Floret,  half-maddened  by  the  prospect  of 
losing  this  chance  of  deliverance,  made  one 
almoet  superhuman  effort,  and  forced  a  faint 
shriek,  feeble  in  its  sound,  from  her  throat. 

But  it  was  heard !  An  attempt  was  made 
to  daeh  the  door  open,  but  it  would  not  yield; 
and  then  the  same  voice  as  before,  rendered 
deep  and  sonorous  by  the  imminence  of  the 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


83 


danger  ia  whifeh  tbey    were   placed,  cried : 
"  S-and  bick  ! — stand  clear !" 

Then  fell  the  ewift,  heavy  blowa  of  an  axe 
upon  tbe  door — a  hailstorm  of  blows — the 
wood  shivered,  split  into  fragments  at  the  spot 
where  the  locks  had  been  at'acned,  and  alter 
this  hurricane,  occupying  a  briefer  time  than 
it  fcfts  taken  to  relate,  ceased,  a  heavy  body 
was  flung  violently  against  the  door:  it  bent, 
cracked,  held  its  own  tenaciously,  and  then, 
on  the  repetition  of  the  daeh  against  it,  it  fell 
in  with  a  crash,  a  complete  wreck. 

In  the  doorway,  in  a  black  helmet  and  dark 
dress,  stood  a  grim-looking  man,  but  stood 
only  for  a  moment. 

At  his  feet  he  eaw  the  half-senseless  girls, 
without  the  strength  to  move  a  limb.  He 
waited  to  put  no  questions  to  them,  for  the 
flames  were  ascending  the  ttaircaee  with  a 
blinding  glare,  and  showers  of  fiery  sparks 
were  darting  up,  coruscating,  glittering,  danc- 
ing, and  wreathing,  as  though  they  were  re- 
joicing over  their  work  of  destruction. 

The  powerful  fellow  lifted  both  girls  from 
the  floor,  one  in  each  arm,  and  bore  them 
from  the  room  into  one  adjoining,  for  all  esoape 
by  the  staircase  was  cut  off. 

Here  was  an  open  window  looking  into  the 
street,  and  against  the  edge  of  the  window  still 
rested  a  fire-escape — that  most  valuable  of  all 
valuable  inventions.  The  brave  fellow  who 
had  taken  charge  of  the  fainting  girls  proceed- 
ed with  his  work  of  deliverance  calmly  and 
skilfully,  though  without  the  low  of  one  in- 
stant's precious  time. 

He  lowered  Ida  carefully  to  the  arms  of 
those  who  were  waiting  below,  with  generous 
philanthropy  and  intense  impatience,  to  re- 
ceive those  who  were  to  be  saved,  and  he  de- 
scended with  Floret. 

As  be  reached  the  ground,  there  was  a  sten- 
torian cheer  from  a  swaying,  thronging  multi- 
tude. 

It  was   followed  by  a  wild  ehout,  a  dull, 
heavy  crash,  the  toe«ing  into  the  air  of  myri- 
ads of  fiery  spark?,  and  the  leaping  and  flash- 
ing of  a  thousand  flames. 
I     The  roof  had  fallen  in ! 

The  gallant  conductor  of  the  fire-escape  had 
not  completed  his  work  of  mercy  a  moment  too 
soon. 

Bewildered,  blinded,  trembling,  scarcely  eon- 
scious,  Floret  and  Ida  were  conveyed  to  a 
neighboring  tavern,  where  every  attention  was 
kindly  paid  to  them,  and  restoratives  were 
given  by  a  medical  gentleman,  who  had  been 
called  is.  to  attend  them,  and  who  soon  report- 
edthat,  though  much  frightened  and  half  suf- 
focated, they  were  in  no  danger — that  they 
only  required  a  few  days'  rest,  careful  attend- 
ance, and  nice,  nourishing  diet  to  restore  them 
to  health  again. 

Floret  covered  h«r  face  with  her  hands  and 
wept  bitter'y  as  she  heard  those  word*. 

A  few  days'  rest,!  Wh«re  were  they  to 
obtain  them?  Nourishing  diet!  How  were 
they  to  get  it?  Their  bundles  containing  the 
whole  of  the  money  they  possessed,  and  all 


their  worldlv  goodc,  wer*  conanmcd  by  the 
fire. 

They  were  not  only  still  homeless,  but  they 
were  now  utterly  penniless. 

The  medical  practitioner  observed  her  tears, 
and  spoke  soothingly  to  her. 

Presently,  as  if  a  thought  struck  him,  lid 
said  to  her,  in  a  Lied  voice  : 

••  Dry  your  tears,  exert  youmlf  to  recover 
your  composure,  and  answer  me  a  few  ques- 
tions." 

Floret  tried  to  follow  his  counsel,  but  with 
very  moderate  euocesf. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  looking  earnestly  into 
her  face,  did  you  know  anything  of  the  wom- 
an whom  I  saw  accost  you  to-day,  and  whom 
you  accompanied  to  the  house  from  which  you 
have  just  been  rescued  ?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Floret,  instantly.  "  My- 
self and  the  young  lady  who  is  here  with  me 
are  strangers  in  London.  We  were  anxious  to 
find  a  youog  woman  who  was  very  kind  to  me 
in  childhood,  and  whose  counsel  and  protec- 
tion I  deeply  reed  now  ;  but  she  had  quitted 
her  old  abode,  and  tbe  woman  who  keeps  the 
house  refused  to  furnish  us  with  an  apartment 
in  it,  because  we  were  unprovided  with  refer- 
ences. The  person  to  whom  you  refer  accost- 
ed us,  and  ofiVed  us  an  asylum  until  we  could 
procure  a  lodging.  But  when  wo  were  in  her 
house  we  were  placed  in  an  apartment,  and 
locked  in  it.  "We  were  there  imprisoned  while 
the  house  was  burning,  and  we  should  have 
perished  there  if  the  brave  fireman  had  not 
broken  the  door  in,  and  rescued  us  at  the  mo- 
ment he  did." 

"  Whom  did  yon  see  while  in  the  bouse  ?n 
inquired  the  medical  man. 

"  Only  a  female  servant,  who  brought  na 
some  refreshments,  of  which  we  did  not  par- 
take," returned  Floret,  quickly. 

She  gobbed    piteouely  as    ehe    concluded, 
and   the  doctor  was  evidently  moved  by  her , 
distress. 

He  turned  to  the  landlord  of  the  tavern,  in 
whose  best  private  room  they  were  all  assem- 
bled, and  said  to  him : 

"  Something  must  be  done,  and  promptly, 
for  theee  unfortunate  young  ladies." 

The  landlord — a  short  and  rather  young  man. 
who  had  for  seme  time  been  engaged  in  cwri- 
ouely  examining  the  features  of  Floret,  prompt- 
ly replied : 

"  I  think  so  !"  , 

Then  he  addressed  himself  to  Floret,  and 
said: 

"  Do  you  remember  me?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  answered 
in  the  negative. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  rejoined,  emphatically. 
"Aecot,  eh?  I  think  so!''  he  added,  as  he 
saw  a  change  pass  over  her  features  at  the  men- 
tion of  that  place.  "  Beachborough,  eh  ?"  he 
continued,  rapidly ;  Ascot  Heath— a  shy  with 
gipsies — a  race  in  a  shay- cart — to  London  in  a 
train— Susan  Atten,  eh  ?  The  Poor  Girl,  eh  ? 
I  think  eol" 

Floret  rose  to  her  feet,  and  sat  down ;  ehe 


EAGAntOt; 


turned  crimson,  find  then  white  ftg&in ;  nhe 
trembled  excessively,  and,  in  an  agitated  voice, 
said : 

"  Did  you  see  me  at  Aecot  ?" 
.  "  I  thitk  so,"  he  returned. 

"And  was  it  you  who  helped  to  rescue  me 
from — from  the  gipsy  ?"  she  exclaimed,  quick- 

]7- 

The  landlord  rubbed  his  hands,  and,  with  a 
twinkle  of  his  eyes,  replied  : 

"I  thiukso!" 

She  disced  her  hands  together. 

"Tben,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "you  know 
Susan  Atten  ?" 

"I  think  so!"  returned  the  landlord,  with  a 
clrackle. 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  where  she  is,  and  will 
help  rr  o  to  find  eome  home,  however  humb)c 
it  may  b^,  ia  which  I  and  my  companion  can 
work,  toil,  I  care  not  how  hard,  to  obtain  a 
livelihood  for  us  both,"  she  cried,  with  nervous, 
eager  solicitude. 

And  the  landlord,  putting  his  head  elightly 
on  one  tide,  and  folding  his  arms  with  an  ex- 
pression upon  his  face  which  eeemed  to  chal- 
lenge contradiction  from  any  one  in  the  world, 
giant  though  he  might  be,  said  emphatically, 
between  1  is  closed  teeth : 

"I  think  BO!" 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  We  toil  through  pain  and  wrong ; 

Wefigbt— and  fly  ; 
We  lore ;  we  lose  ;  and  then,  ere  long, 

Stone-dead  we  lie. 
0  Life!  is  all  thy  son* 
••  Endure  and-die?'" 

— BARRT  CORNWALL. 

Fortunately  for  Floret  and  Ida,  the  landlord 
ofthe  tavern  to  which  they  had  been  conduct- 
ed afrer  being  rescued  from  the  burning  house 
into  which  they  bad  been  inveigled,  was  that 
identical  eoukjn  Bob  who  had  so  much,  distin- 
guished Limself  in  assisting  to  convey  her  from  I 
Aecot  He-itl  and  from  the  clutches  of  Daddy 
"Wmdj — Harry  Vere'e  cousin  Bob,  who  had  de- 
rived" iufiniteJy  more  gratification  from  that 
event,  and  its  attendant  racideits,  than  he 
would  have  done  from  seeing  a  dozen  "Em- 
peror's Piates"  contested  for. 

He  had  parted  with  his  public- house  at 
Windsor  to  his  brother  Joe,  who  had  resigned 
his  trade  as  a  butcher,  in  order  that  he  might 
become  the  proprietor  of  the  present  hous  >  ia 
Pimlico,  which  promised  to  be  a  very  profita- 
ble speculation. 

Tne  doctor  having  seen  Floret  and  Ida  re- 
stored to  something  like  composure,  and  being 
assured  that  they  would  be  able,  with  quiet 
and  a  little  attention,  to  recover  from  tceir 
fright,  and  regain  their  spirits  and  strength, 
prepared  to  take  bis  leave. 

He  was  delighted  to  find  that  his  favorable 
impression  of  both  girls  was  confirmed  to  a 
certaia  extert  by  the  landlord  ;  and  he  had  no 
doubt  that,  innocent  and  pure,  they  had  been 
Inveigled  by  the  old  wre  ch,  whose  house  had 
,seeniiDgly  bee«a  so  providentially  destroyed, 
for  the  worst  of  purposes.  He  impressed,  wi  h 


unnecessary  warmth,  tipofl  "  Cousin  Bob1'  the 
necesfcity  of  treating  the  young  lidies  with 
kind  and  c'elicate  consideration,  and  promised 
to  visit  them  again  in  the  morning,  when,  if 
they  chose  to  communicate  to  him  their  actual 
condition,  he  promised  that  he  would  interest 
himself  among  bis  rich  patients  in  their  fivor. 

Floret,  with  a  burning  cheek,  thanked  him 
for  the  services  he  had  already  rendered  to 
her,  and  for  his  benevolent  designs,  of  which, 
although  she  said  nothing  noir — she  had  nei- 
ther spirit  nor  heart  to  converse — she  did  not 
intend  to  avail  herself.  Ste  shrank  from  every 
help  which  took  the  form  of  charity.  She  was 
prepared  to  work,  but  not  to  be  dependent 
on  the  bounty  of  any  being  living. 

Cousin  Bob  had  a  sister  who  was  living  with 
him  as  his  housekeeper. 

She  hud  been  out  that  afternoon  to  visit  a 
friend,  and  returned  home  jast  as  the  doctor 
TVas  taking  bis  leave. 

A  few  words  placed  her  in  possession  of  the 
exciting  circumstances  which  bad  occurred, 
and  being  of  as  kindly  a  disposition  as  her 
brother  Bob,  she  very  quickly  butied  herself 
in  making  Floret  and  laa  as  comfortable  and 
as  much  at  their  ease  as  ehe  could,  and  gave 
up  to  them  her  own  bed-room,  without  deign- 
ing to  listen  to  a  word  in  opposition  to  her  pur- 
pose. 

Floret  and  Ida  elept  soundly  that  night,  for 
t&ey  slept  with  an  unqualified  sense  of  perfect 
eeeurity.  The  next  morning,  Floret  contrived 
to  have  an  interview  wi  .h  Bob,  and  alone. 

She  feund  him  profoundly  engaged  in  med- 
itating how  to  bring  the  very  interview  which 
she  had  thus  contrived  about,  when  she  ap- 
peared before  him,  and  saved  him  ail  further 
trouble. 

"I  am  anxioui,"  she  said  earnestly,  "to 
have  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  you 
alone.  Will  jcu  oblige  me  by  hearing  what 
I  have  to  say,  where  we  shall  not  be  inter- 
rupted ?" 

•'Well,  I  think  so!"  responded  Bob.  "I 
wasjnst  going  to  propose  the  same  thing  to 
jou.  No  one  will  interrupt  us  here.  Fire 
away!" 

"  fijusan  Atten — I  used  to  call  her  Mamma 
Atten — where  is  she?'  inquired  Floret,  ea- 
gerly. 

"  Gone  to  Canada,"  replied  Bob,  passing 
his  right  hand  over  his  chin,  and  gazing  ear- 
nestly in  Floret's  face. 

For  a  mcmont  he  remained  silent,  and  then, 
with  a  rapid  and  rather  peculiar  emphasis, 
said  : 

"You  see,  Miss— yon  won't  be  offended 
with  me,  for  God  knows  I  don't  mean  any 
offence  to  you,  of  all  His  living  creatures— but 
you  see,  Miee,  I  want  to  remind  you  that  ever 
since  you  have  been  a  baby  y©u  have  caused 
a  commotion.  You  set  all  Beachborough  Jy- 
ing  when  you  first  made  your  appearance 
there  ;  you  was  the  unhappy  cause  of  as  swe.«t 
a  girl  in  the  world — innocent  enough  of  it,  the 
Lord  knows — being  hurried  out  of  k  with 
something  wovee  than  ft  broken  heart,  and  oi 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


as  fine  a  hearted  fellow  as  was  ever  born  leav- 
ing his  country  and  his  family,  a  broken-spir- 
ited, blighted  man.  For  love  and  tenderness 
for  you,  poor  Susan  Atten  haa  had  her  life  cut 
up — her  lover  left  her  for  Canada  on  your  ac- 
count only  ;  and  she  at  last — when  j  ou  were 
a  second  time  stolen  from  her,  after  fretting 
herself  to  a  skeleton  about  you  and  Harry 
Vere,  finding  that  it  was  a  hoptle«s  task  to  en- 
deavor to  trace  you  out— followed  Harry  out 
to  Canada,  in  order  that  she  might  cot  break 
his  heart  as  well  as  her  own,  by  dying  of  grief 
at  the  loss  of  somebody  else  besides  him.  I 
saw  her  before  she  went  away — nay,  I'll  tell 
you  the  truth,  Mias— it  was  tnroughmy  ad- 
vice she  went  out  after  Harry.  I  pointed  out 
to  her,  that  if  she  remained  in  England  she 
would  loEe  both  ;  but  if  she  went  out  and  se- 
cured Harry,  she  might  come  back  and  fiad 
you." 

Bob  paused  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from 
off  his  forehead.  It  stood  iu  thick  beacis 
there.  He  had  not  removed  his  ejes  from 
Floret's  face — and  he  saw  from  ics  white 
rigidity  that  his  words  were  congealing  her 
blood. 

*  I  know  that  I'm  paining  you,  Mica,"  he 
said,  speaking  a  little  huskily,  for  he  evidently 
was  hiaisfclf  affected  by  the  character  of  there- 
marks  he  was  making ;  "  but  I  am  paining  my- 
self, too  ;  and  I  have  a  duty  to  perform,  which. 
I  shall  perform,  as  I  always  have  done  through 
my  life,  when  there  WAS  a  duty  to  do.  It  is 
only  right  that  you  should  know  what  others 
have  done  a«d  suffered  for  you,  and  what  a 
strange  fatality  seems  to  cling  to  you  wherever 
you  go  and  whatever  you  do.  I  have  eeenycu 
but  twice.  I  had  a  ride  for  my  ILe  the  first 
time  ;  the  second  you  are  brought  to  me,  hav- 
ing narrowly  escaped  losing  yours.  Having 
eaid  so  much,  I  have  done  with  that  part  of 
the  subject.  It  seems  harsh  and  brutal  to 
speak  to  you  as  I  have  done — at  least,  if  it 
does  not  to  you,  it  does  to  me ;  but  I  have 
thought  it  right  to  say  what  I  have,  in  order 
that  you  might  not  fancy  that  poor  Susey  At- 
ten  ran  away  from  England,  and  from  you, 
without  eauee.  No !  She's  gone  to  be  united 
to  the  man  she  loves,  and  who  loves  her  as  a 
true  man  should  love  a  woman.  Before  she 
went  she  begged  me  to  use  my  endeavors  to 
find  you  out  if  I  could  ;  and  so  I  have  used 
them,  for  this  past  year ;  and  if  there  had  been 
another  fe w  days  to  run,  I  should  have  laid 
my  finger  upon  you.  I  found  out  your  school 
at  Uggiebarmby,  too  late  to  catch  you.  I 
traced  you  to  the  gipsies'  camp  after  you  were 
gone—' but  here  you  are,  as  you  say,  friendless, 
homeless,  and  penniless.  Now,  Miss,  under- 
stand frviia  me  that  you  are  not  friendless,  be 
cau£e  I  have  promised  Susey  Atten  that  if  I 
once  came  up  wiJti  you,  I'd  never  desert  you 
— and,  begging  your'pardon,  ALss,  damme  if  I 
do — ahtml  But,  putting  me  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, there  is  a  great  lady  I  know  el  who  will 
be  your  fiiend,  who  is  almost  out  of  her  mind 
because  she  has  lost  you— I  mean  the  lacy 
whose  house  you  were  in.  when  you  were  iil, 


and  who  sent  you  into  tbe  country,  from 
whence  the  old  gipsy  stole  ycu  away  again. 
She  is  anxious  to  receive  you  again,  and  sup- 
port you,  if  jou  like  to  go  and  live  as  she 
wishes  you  to  do.  You  are  not— and  you  shall 
not  be — homeless,  even  if  you  reject  her 
cffcr;  for  it  will  be  my  care  to  provide  one 
for  you,  and  you  will  not  be  penniless  ;  for 
Susey  Atten  leit  in.  my  charge  a  sum  of  money 
for  you,  with  the  information  where  to  apply 
for  more  when  that  is  gone.  Tnere,  Miss,  I 
have  done  now.  I  have  said  all  I  had  to  say. 
I  think  so.  It  has  not  been  a  pleasant  job; 
but  it  is  over.  There  is  only  one  thing  more 
— and  that  ia,  that  if  I  can  serve  you  I  shall ; 
and  that  without  having  anything  to  say  about 
it— at  least,  I  thick  not." 

Floret  heard  -him  to  the  end  without  inter- 
poairg  a  single  word.  Not  a  sound  escaped 
her  lips — not  a  sigh,  although  her  bosom 
heaved  and  fell  with  inward  suffering. 

Once  or  twice  ehe  essayed  to  speak ;  but 
articulation  seemed  to  be  denied  her.  She 
pressed  the  tips  of  her  fingers  upon  her  eye- 
lids— not  to  drive  back  tears  which  might 
have  congregated  there,  but  because  her  eye- 
balls ached  with  an  agony  which  was  almost 
insupportabh.  Her  brain,  in  fact,  was  ter- 
ribly over- taxed. 

By  a  strong  effort,  however,  she  spoke. 
Her  voice  was  hard  and  hollow  ;  it  had  none 
of  its  old  melody  in  it — its  tone  made  Bob 
start,  and  a  flush  of  hea^  to  pass  over  him. 

"  There  is  one  figure  in  the  category  you 
have  just  repeated,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  which 
you  have  omitted,  and  for  which  even  you  can- 
not find  an  antidote." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"I  *as  friendless,  homeless,  penniless," 
she  replied,  in  the  same  tone,  and  speaking 
with  forced  exertion ;  "  for  each  of  those  bit- 
ter conditions  you  Lave  furnished  me  with  a 
remedy  ;  "  but  there  is  yet  one  grave  and  im- 
portant situation  which  you  have  not  foreseen 
or  imagined — how  should  you  ?  It  is  impera- 
tive that  you — perhaps  one  other,  and  only- 
one  other — Susan  Atten — should  know  it— itia 
that  I  am  hopeless  I" 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  Bob  started. 
He  would  have  spoken,  but  ehe  checked  him. 
^  "  Hear  me  out,"  she  said,  her  voice  tremb- 
ling, although  she  strove  to  keep  it  firm.    "  I 
have  not  much  more  to  say  ;  but  little  as  it  is, 
I  pray  you  to  pay  heed  to  it.    I  ask  of  you  to 
reflect  and  comprehend  how  much  is  com- 
prised in  that  one  word  which  I  have  just  ut-  f 
tered.  I  ask  for  no  friendship,  for  I  have  none  - 
to  give  back  in  return.    I  cannot,  will  not  see  • 
that  lady  of  whom  you  have  spoken,  again,  nor 
will  I  accept  her  pecuniary  assistance,  nor  that 
of  any  other  person.    It  ia  my  earnest  wish  \ 
never  to  see  again  any  person — and  this  with- 
out exception— whom  1  have  ever  seen  in  my 
past,  miserable  life.    I  need,  in  the  future, 
oaly  an  apartment  in  an  obscure  place,  with 
the  means  of  earning  enough  to  pay  for  what 
I  eat,  for  what  I  wear,  and  for  the  place  in 
whioh  I  m».y  breathe,  and  lay  my  head  at 


HAGARLOT; 


night.  This  is  all  I  require—all  I  will  accept 
any  attempt,  proceeding  from  any  source,  to 
compel  me  to  alter  the  decision  at  which  I 
have  arrived,  will  be  followed  <by  an  effectual 
check  to  the  necessity  Jor  any  second  inter- 
vention in  my  behalf.  I  know  that  I  bear  a 
fated  life  ;  I  wish  to  bear  it  with  patience  and 
fortitude  ;  but  in  obscurity.  I  entreat  you  to 
understand  that.  Had  I  been  the  child  of 
parents  whom  I  had  known  and  loved,  how- 
ever humble  they  might  have  been,  it  would 
have  been  my  ambition  to  have  soared — to 
have  grasped  at  the  highest  gifts  the  world  has 
to  bestow  ;  aa  it  is,  I — I — would  to  heaven 
that  I  were  dead — buried— forgotten!" 

"  Miaa  Floret !"  ejaculated  Bob,  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"  All  my  aspirations,  yearnings,  hopes,  are 
embodied  iii  those  la&t  few  expressire  words," 
she  continued,  passionately,  and  yet  with  a 
plaintively  despairing  tone,  which  made  Bob 
move  about  with  a  very  uneasy  and  uncom- 
fortable expression.  "I  implore  you,"  she 
continued,  with  clasped  Lands,  "  to  believe 
that  I  have  revealed  my  wishes  to  you  with 
undisguised  sincerity,  without  the  smallest  de- 
sire that  my  future  should  be  other  than  I 
have  pictured  it.  I  do  not — I  entreat  you  to 
credit  me — forget,  for  a  moment,  that  I  inno- 
cently, on  my  own  part,  have  brought  upon 
the  few  who  have  tried  to  serve  me,  and  whom 
I  could  have  loved  tenderly  and  lastingly, 
only  bitterness  and  affliction — even  death — I 
have  never  forgotten  it  since  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact — I  shall  never  forget  it 
while  I  live  ;  but  it  will  be  my  care  that  no 
one,  henceforward,  shall  be  made  to  Buffer  on 
my  account.  You  will  see,  Sir,  now,  after  my 
explanation,  that  I  require  but  the  humblest 
sitting  and  sleeping-room. — one,  at  first,  which 
will  serve  the  purposes  of  both  I  should  great- 
ly prefer  ;  it  w  11  best  suit  my  present  condi- 
tion. I  possess  many  accomplishments  which, 
resolutely  and  pereavcringly  applied,  will 
bring  me  a  pittance — a  scanty  one  is  all  I 
need.  In  conclusion,  I  will  ask  of  you  the 
last  favor  I  trust  I  shall  have  to  ask  of  any- 
one in  the  world,  and  I  would  not  even  ask 
it  of  you,  if  I  thought  it  might  be  productive 
even  of  inconvenience  to  you!" 

"  Ahem  1"  coughed  Bob,  trying  to  clear  his 
voice.  4i  Whafc  is  it,  Mies  ?" 

44  Myself  and  the  young  lady  who  is  my 
companion  arc — excuse  me  if  I  repeat,  from 
no  faults  of  our  own — are  without  relatives,  or 
even  acquaintance?,"  she  continued.  "  "We 
have  already  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  a  fur- 
nished apartment,  being  unable  to  give  a  refer- 
esce  to  any  person  who  can  vouch  that  we  are 
simply  honest.  May  I  ask  you,  Sir,  to  inte- 
rest yourself  to  procure  for  us  such  en  apart- 
ment, as  I  have  suggested,  and,  further,  to  ob- 
lige me  with  your  advice  and  knowledge,  so  as 
to  enable  us  instantly  to  commence  to  earn  the 
bread  which  we  must  eat  to  live  the  term 
which  He  has  ordained  for  us  to  bear  our 
Cross  on  earth." 

She  paused.    Her  voice  faltered  a  little,  at 


the  last ;  but  she  had  maintained  it  clear  and 
moderately  firm  throughout,  although  the 
tone  was  low,  and  onc«  or  twice  it  shivered,  aa 
it  were,  with  her  deep  emotion. 

Bob  coughed  three  or  four  times  before  he 
attempted  a  reply,  and  then  he  eaid.  with  a 
great  »utbur9t : 

"You  must  excuse  me,  Miss,  if  I  don't 
speak  very  clearly,  for  I've  a  lump  in  my 
thro,  t  jnat  now  as  big  as  an  egg — ahem !  But 
— but — Lord,  Lord  !  I  cannot  bear  to  heap 
you  speak  in  the  way  yon  do,  Miss.  I  ttll  you 
I  can't  bear  it— ahem !  ahem!  I  am  rough 
and  thoughtless  in  my  way,  and  I  know  very 
well  that  I  don't  always  express  myself  aa  I 
wish  to  do  ;  but  1  can  see,  I  can  form  conclu- 
sions, and  I  can  feel— ahem  !  I  say  I  can  feel. 
I  have  bthaved  like  a  brute,  for  I've  said  what 
I  ought  not  to  have  said  ;  but,  Lord,  I  was  so 
anxious  that  you  ehoold  think  kindly  of  Susan 
Atten,  that,  in  my  anxiety,  I  said  just  what 
was  1'kely  to  make  you  think  the  reverie." 

"Ifotbing  you  could  have  saiJ,  er  night 
say,  would  have  the  effect  of  changing  my 
feelings  of  loving  affection  and  tejadtrnees  for 
her,"  interposed  Floret. 

"  But  it  has  had  a  blistering  effect  OB  you," 
he  rejoined,  and  added  quickly,  as  she  made  a 
gesture  of  dissent,  "  Don't  interrupt  me  just 
at  the  present  moment,  pleas*  Miss,  or  I  shall 
lose  what  is  uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  tell 
you  I  know  something  of  your  history  — 
enough  to  make  me  know  kow  to  shape  my 
course  with  respect  to  you.  I  knew  pretty 
Fanny  Shelley;  I  knew  Stephen  Tere,  as  I 
knew  his  brother  Harry — nay,  they  are  cous- 
ins of  mine  ;  and  I  know  Susan  Att«n.  I  love 
them  all  as  I  love  my  heart's  best  blood,  and  I 
know  how  deep  th«  interest  of  three  of  them,  at 
least,  was  settled  in  your  fate.  Don't  you 
think  that  is  enough  for  me?  Don't  you 
think  that  is  enough  io  make  me  interest  my- 
self in  your  behalf,  without  your  troubling 
yourself  to  put  to  me  as  a  favor  that  which  I 
fikall  do  as  a  duty.  I  think  so !  IS ow  let  me 
tell  you,  aa  a  friend,  that  your  thoughts  and 
feelings  are  in  a  very  unnatural  condition,  and 
they  want  a  doctor  to  make  them  w*  11 — sot  a 
medical  doctor — because  it's  my  belief  tbat  he 
would  very  sooa  end  the  whole  matfcr  with  a 
coffin  asd  spade  ;  but  that  doctor  whose  medi- 
cine ia  a  clean,  lively  pl«c«  to  live  in,  kind 
friends  about  you,  plenty  to  do,  acd  indepen- 
dence of  action.  That  you  shall  have.  It  is 
unnatural,  I  say,  to  hear  you  taik.  Yours  is 
not  the  language  of  despondency,  of  dejection, 
of  foreboding,  but  of  absolute,  hopelees  de- 
spair." 

"  It  is  !"  *he  exclaimed,  "  it  must— it  will 
ever  b<»  while  I  live." 

"Damme  if  it  shall!"  cried  Bob,  violently; 
and  added,  with  some  confusion,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mies,  I  couldn't  help  it — those  expres- 
sions of  excitement,  I  think  they  call  them, 
will  elip  out  now  and  then,  in  spite  of  our 
teeth,  won't  they,  Miss  ?  I  think  so.  How- 
evtr,  that  isn't  just  what  I  was  going  ta  say. 
I  know  that  your  mind  is  uneasy  about  your 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


87 


future  quarters ;  let  it  rest  quite  easy  on  that 
point,  and  quite  easy,  too,  on  another — I  mean 
about  getting  something  to  do.  I  can  settle 
both  points  for  you  to  day." 

"  I  shall  be    deeply    grateful,"  exclaimed 
Floret,  quietly  and  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  within  ten  minutes  from  this  time," 
continued  Bob,  "  or  I  may  be  too  late,  and 
that  won't  do;  at  least,  I  think  not.  You  eee, 
Miss,  I  hare  an  aunt  who  lived  for  a  good  many 
years  down  in  Nottinghamshire,  with  the  old 
Marquis  of  Broadlands.  She  has  left  service 
with  a  little  she  has  saved,  and  she  has  taken 
a  house  not  far  from  here,  ut  the  back  of  Eaton 
Square,  where  she  lets  apartments.  All  the 
best  of  the  upper  part  is  in  the  occupation  of 
two  elderly  maiden  ladies,  and  the  lower  part 
she  has  for  herself.  But  she  has  just  finished 
famishing  two  top  rooms,  very  quietly  and 
very  moderately,  which  she  means  to  let  to — 
to — there,  juat  two  such  parties  as  the  young 
lady  up-stairs  and  yourself.  I'll  do  the  intro- 
duction part,  and  that  will  be  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  that  part  of  the  business.  And  then 
for  the  other  part  of  it,  my  aunt  was  speaking 
to  me  about  wanting  a  young  lady,  well  edu- 
cated, to  take  charge  of  a  little  orphan  girl, 
whose  father  is  an  officer  in  India,  and  whose 
mother,  who  has  not  returned  long  to  England 
in  ill  health,  has  recently  died.  Now  you  have 
been  at  a  good  schoo.1, 1  know,  and  you  can 
take  charge  of  this  little  girl,  can't  you, 
Miss?" 

Floret  bent  her  he* d.  She  felt  that  she  was 
unable  to  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  And,"  continued  Bob,  "  we  shall  soon  find 
something  for  the  young  lady  up-stairs  to  do, 
very  soon.  Therefore  you  may,  if  you  please, 
Miss,  wipe  off  a  little  piece  of  the  cloud  on 
your  brow,  and  I  shall  soon  give  you  cause  to 
•wipe  off  another  piece,  for  I  expect  that  Susan 
and  her  husband,  Harry  Vere,  will  be  back 
again  before  very  long.  The  old  man  down 
home  has  won  his  lawsuits.  Ay  1  the  whole  of 
them,  and  he  has  now  three  farms,  nearly  two 
thousand  acres  in  all,  to  call  his  own.  One  he 
keeps  for  himself,  one  be  has  settled  on  Ste- 
phen, and  the  other  on  Harry,  who  are  to  pay 
something  toward  making  a  fund  for  the  rest  of 
the  family.  He  has  written  to  Canada  for 
both  of  them  to  come  home  immediately,  and 
you  may  be  sure  they  will.  There,  won't  that 
bring  back  sunshine  to  your  pretty  face, 
Miss  '?":  She  bent  her  head,  and  murmured  : 

"No!" 

"Ah!"'  responded  Bob.  looking  solicitously 
at  her,  "  I  think  I  know  what  you  have  on 
your  mind  ;  but  I  won't  trusfc  rnveelf  to  say 
anything,  for  perhaps  I  should  make  a  fool  of 
myself  if  I  do.  But  this  I  will  tell  you :  I 
have  seen  the  sky  dark,  the  clouds  low,  rain 
falling,  and  no  risible  sign  that  there  will  be 
any  change  for  a  long,  long  time  ;  and  while 
this  gloom  has  been  hanging  over  me,  dense 
and  thick,  I've  eeen  a  little  spider  pop  out 
from  a  gooseberry- branch,  swing  itself  to  an- 
other, and  begin  briskly  to  spin  its  web.  Then 
that  the  clouds  were  going  to  clear  off, , 


and  the  brightest  and  clearest  sunshine  would 
shortly  and  certainly  follow.  All  round  you, 
Miss,  has  been  gloom  and  darkness — storm  and 
frost.  But  I  can  eee,  though  you  can't,  that 
there  is  a  web  weaving  in  your  case,  and  that 
the  clouds  which  harg  threateningly  over  you 
will  soon  be  driven  away.  You  shake  your 
head.  You  forget  two  things  ;  one,  that  yon 
are  very  young  :  it  is  only  morning  witi  you' 
—there  ia  plenty  of  time  for  sunshine  before 
your  day  can  run  out.  The  other,  that  it  is 
profitless  work  to  mourn  over  circumstances, 
unless  you  know  that  they  are  absolute  facts!" 

Floret  started,  and  gazed  inquiringly  at  Lim. 
He  put  his  bead  on  one  side,  and,  with  a  emile 
on  his  lip  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  responded:. 

"Eh?    I  think  so!" 

Then  he  added,  in  a  cheerful  tone : 

'•  I'm  off  to  aunt,  now.    I  shall  be  back  in 
few  minutes,  and  you  can   go,  Miss,  in  the 
meanwhile,  and  make  your  friend's  mind  hap- 

He  was  back  in  a  few  minutes.  In  the  in-  • 
terval,  Floret  had  explained  to  Ida  what  ar-  i 
rangemeats  Bob  bad  proposed  to  make  for- 
them,  and  she  listened  to  her  with  delight.  \ 
Oa  Bob's  r«turn,  he  told  them  that  he  had 
explained  all  that  was  necessary  to  his  aunt, : 
and  that  she  would  be  glad  to  receive  them! 
as  soon  as  they  pleased  to  proeeed  to  he&J 
house. 

He  offered  to  escort  them  thither,  and  they! 
gladly  aceepted  his  kindness.  They  parted' 
with  the  utterance  of  earnest  thanks  to  Bob's, 
sister,  who  had,  during  their  short  stay,  be- 
haved to  them  with  the  kindest  and  most 
thoughtful  attention  ;  and  they  were  very  soon. 
at  the  door  of  their  new  home. 

Bob's  aunt  answered  the  door,  and  both* 
Floret  and  Ida  saw,  in  an  inetant,  that  they 
should  like  her— she  looked  so  kindly,  so  emil- 
ing,  and  good-tempered.  j 

"  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Spencer,"  said  Bob,  with  a-1 
roguish  nod  of  the  head ;  "  one  of  the  beet 
sorts  ont.  The  young  ladies,  Mrs.  Spencer  ; ' 
two  of  the  best  sorts  this  side  of  Elysium — thai 
is,  I  think  so  »"  j 

A  glance  at  both  satisfied  a  woman  as  ex- 
perienced as  Mrs.  Spencer.  She  saw  instantly,  - 
by  their  refined  and  delieate  appearance,  and 
their  lady-like  manners,  that  they  wore,  if  poor, 
exceedingly  well  bred.  She  welcomed  them  in 
a  pleasant  way,  and  at  once  introduced  tnem 
to  their  apartments. 

Fiorfcfc  gazed  around  her  on  entering  them 
with  something  like  dismay.    They — though, 
as  Bob  had  said,  very  mocerately  furnished — j  j 
were  beyond  what  she  hoped  or  intended  to  j 
engage.     But,  before  she   could  offer  a  re-  j ; 
mark,  a  thin,  delicate  child,  evidently  born  in  , 
India,  with  a  sallow  complexion,  large,  deep-  [ 
brown,  thoughtful  eyes,  and  long,  dark  hair, 
which  streamed  loosely  down  to  her  shoulders, 
was  brought  to  her  notice  by  Bob. 

"  The  motherless  child,"  he  said,  with  a 
shrewd  glance  at  Floret,  "  and  her  new  mam- 
ma's little  beauty.  You  will  be  a  mamma  to 
her,  for  a  time,  won't  you,  Misa  ?" 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


The  child  looked  tip  at  her,  sorrowfully  and 
wistfully. 

t         Fiortt  caught  her  in  her  arms,  bowed  her 
face  upon  her  reck,  and  gobbed  passionately. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  minute,  and  then 
Floret  drew  herself  up,  and,  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture,  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eye- 
lids. 

She  turned  to  Mrs.  Spenoer,  and  said  : 

"  You  will  pardon  my  emotion.  I  am  in 
weak  health,  and  there  are  memories  which 
sometimes  get  the  better  of  my  self-  com- 
mand." 

"  I  quite  appreciate  your  tenderness,  Miss," 
responded  Mrs.  Spencer  ;  "and  I  am  glad  that 
I  hare  witnessed  it,  for  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  be  kind  to  this  poor  little  motherless 
child.  Terms  will  not  be  BO  much  a  ques- 
tion, for  there  is  plenty  of  money  in  the  fam- 
ily. but  kindness  and  tenderness  will  be  every- 
thing." 

•'  She  shall  not  feel  the  reed  of  them  while 
in  my  charge,"  murmured  Floret. 

"Then  all  ia  light  for  the  present,"  obserred 
Bob.  <-Eb,aunt?  Ithinkso!" 

"  All  right,  Bob,"  returned  his  aunt,  with  a 
smile. 

"Then,"  said  he,  "I  shall  return  to  my 
drum  with  as  light  a  heart  in  my  body  as  ever 
I  had  ia  my  life.  Good-bye,  young  ladies  ;  I 
shall  drop  in,  now  and  then,  to  see  how  you 
are  getting  on.  Eh,  aunt?  I  thick  so  !" 

Bob  waved  his  band,  and  scampered  off,  be- 
fore they  could,  offer  him  one  word  of  grateful 
acknowledgment  for  his  kindness  to  them. 

"  A  kind,  good-hearted  boy  ia  Bob,"  observ- 
ed Mrs.  Spenoer,  smiling. 

Floret  was  about  to  reply,  when  her  eye 
was  attracted  by  an  oil  portrait  hanging  in  the 
.    room. 

It  was  that  of  a  youth  of  fouiteen  ;  he  had 
fair  hair,  parted  at  the  side,  rich  blue  eyes,  a 
handfeome  face,  and  a  most  amiable  expression 
of  countenance. 

Mrs.  Spencer  saw  that  Floret's  eyes  settled 
on  the  face,  and  she  said,  instant  Jy  : 
.  4<  Ah,  the  dear  boy  !  isn't  he  a  sweet  fellow  ? 
Ah  I  I've  known  him  since  he  was  first  laid  in 
his  cot.  The  kindest-hearted,  the  most  gener- 
ous-spirited, sweetest-tempered  little  fellow  — 
he's  a  tall  fellow  now,  though  —  you  could  ever 
meet  with,  Miss  1  Dear  me  !  I  could  tell  you 
many  hundred  anecdotes  about  him.  He  was 
very  par<iai  to  me,  and  I  quit*  doated  on  him, 
the  dear  fellow  I" 

L     "  What  is  his  name  ?"  inquired  Ida. 
P     <•  Victor,"  replied  Mrs.  Spencer. 
f     "  Victor  —  Victor  —  it  is  a  very  pretty  name," 
',  fiaid  Ida,  reflectively.    "  Where  have  I  heard 
it?" 


•'  Ah  !"  rejoined  Mrs.  Spencer,  "  it  is  a  name 
,  I  often  mention  in  my  prayers.  He  is  Lord 
,  Victor  Trentham,  the  eecond  son  of  the  Mar- 

quis  of  Broad  lands,  with  whom  I  lived,  at 

Trentham,  in  Nottinghamshire." 
43  Floret  sank  upon  a  seat. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


And,  Othat  pang  where  taore  than  madness  lies  T 
The  worm  that  will  net  tleep—  and  never  di  ~a  ; 
Thought  of  the  gloomy  day  and  ghastly  night, 
Yet  dreads  the  darknew,  and  yet  loathes  the  light. 
That  winds  around  asd  tears  the  qnivenng  htart  ! 
Ah  !  wherefore  net  consume  it—  and  depart  ?" 


"  Lord  Vi«tor  Trentham,  second  son  of  the 
Marquis  of  Broadlandf,  of  Trentham  Park, 
Nottinghamshire  I"  How  those  words  went  to 
the  heart  of  poor  Floret,  and  forced  her  into  a 
seat,  as  though  each  sound  were  a  weapon 
used  to  strike  her  down  I 

The  sight  of  the  portrait  of  the  young  lord 
startled  her,  when  her  eyes  roaming  round  the 
walls  of  th«  apartment  first  fell  upon  it  At 
the  first  glance  she  had  an  impression  that  the 
face  strikingly  resembled  one  which  was  far 
dearer  to  her  than  she  would  trust  herself  to 
acknowledge,  even  when  completely  alone 
with  her  thoughts;  but  when  Mrs.  Spencer 
somewhat  abruptly  mentioned  the  name 
of  the  original,  sueh  a  throng  of  thoughts 
ruehed  through  her  brain  that  she  became 
powerless,  and  sunk  down  upon  a  chair,  for  the 
moment  quite  overcome. 

In  the  delicate  condition  of  frame  to  which 
bad  living,  great  anxiety  of  mind,  and  consid- 
erable fatigue,  recently  endured,  had  reduced 
her,  she  was  an  easy  prey  to  emotion,  espe- 
cially the  peculiar  emotion  which  was  created 
by  the  observation  of  Mrs.  Spencer.  Had  she 
been  in  better  health  she  would  not  have  suf- 
fered the  words  to  pass  by  without  betraying 
any  sign  that  the  mention  of  Lord  Victor's 
name  could  affect  her  ;  but  being  feeble,  and 
her  nerves  being  wholly  unstrung,  she  no 
longer  possessed  that  amount  of  self-control 
which  would  enable  her  to  conceal  an  inward 
agony  with  an  outward  appearance  of  immov- 
able calmness. 

Yes,  it  ia  useless  to  disguise  it.  The  face,  ' 
form,  name  of  Lord  Victor  were  inexpressibly 
dear  to  her.  It  is  the  nature  of  woman  to  love 
something,  and  she  evinces  that  disposition  at 
the  earliest  age,  when  her  powers  of  afiection 
are  drawn  first  into  existence  by  a  dolL 
Floret  was  not  in  this  respect  unlike  her  sex. 
She  had  a  full  share  of  love  in  her  composi- 
tion, but  circumstances  had  compelled  it  to 
remain  latent.  Its  powers  were  none  the  leas 
intent  on  that  account  ;  she  wanted  but  the 
object  to  lavish  upon  it  a  treasure  of  affec- 
tion and  tenderness  which  could  not  be  sur- 
passed. 

The  fac«  of  Lord  Victor,  beautiful  in  itself 
—and  what  is  more  attractive  than  the  bright, 
handsome  countenance  of  a  high-bred  boy?  — 
beamed  first  upon  her  as  that  of  an  angel  sud- 
denly appearing  to  save  her  from  the  rough 
and  bruush  usage  of  a  boor.  She  saw  it  after- 
ward only  on  occasions  when  it  was  shining  on 
her  pleasantly,  aiid  its  owner  was  striving  to 
save  her  —  the  a  poor,  nameless  outcast.  It 
had  lived  in  her  memory  from  the  first  mo- 
ment she  bchtld  it,  as  a  star  by  her  unap- 
proachable, but  not  the  less  to  be  wor- 
shiped, 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIEL. 


Since  her  interview  with  Hagar,  when  hope, 
with  the  icy  hand  of  a  fiend,  had  been  wrench- 
ed out  of  her  heart,  she  had  inwardly  and  firm- 
ly resolved  that  henceforward  Lord  Victor 
should  be  only  a  memory  to  her.  There  were 
times,  perhaps,  when  in  solitude,  unbroken 
even  by  a  sound,  she  had  indulged  in  delicious 
dreams  ef  a  paradise  into  which  no  care  could 
enter,  and  in  which  they  could  wander  togeth- 
er, loving  and  loved,  without  an  alloy  to  their 
happiness.  She  had  dispersed  those  dreams 
now.  Sbe  had,  perhaps,  set  him.  up  in  her 
heart  as  an  idol  to  be  secretly  worshiped  ;  but 
that  was  all.  So  when  she  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly learned  that  Mrs.  Sptncer  had 
known  him  from  his  infancy,  and  was  respect- 
ed by  him,  it  became  instantly  a  logical  con- 
clueion  in  her  mind,  that  when  he  had  the  op- 
portUEry  fce  would  call  upon  Mrs.  Spencer  to 
satisfy  bimeelf  about  her  health  and  prospects, 
and  that  if  in  the  future  he  were  to  do  so,  he 
would  occasionally  be  in  the  same  house  with 
her,  would  probably  see  her,  or  hear  of  her, 
and  w«uld  then  make  an  attempt  to  epeak  to 
her. 

With  this  conviction  pressing  en  her  brain — 
pleasant  as  the  eight  of  bis  handsome  face 
would  be  in  her  eyes,  sweetly  aa  the  soft  tones 
of  his  voice  would  fall  upon  her  ear,  dear  in- 
deed as  his  presence  would  be,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, save  in  bar  own  unhappy  situa- 
tion, to  her— she  felt  it  to  be  a  duty  to  avoid 
him — nay,  a  necessity — for  in  his  presence  »he 
felt  that  she  should  cower  to  the  earth  in  shame 
and  abject  humiliation. 

"Wb«n  Mrs.  Spencer  had  concluded  speak- 
ing, Floret  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  portrait, 
perhaps  with  the  idea  of  looking  her  last  upon 
it,  and  ehe  eaid,  faintly  : 

"  Does  Lord  Viator  Trentham  often  visit 
you  here  ?'J 

Mrs.  Spececr  uttered  a  little  scream. 

"  Lord  bless  the  child  I"  she  exclaimed  ; 
"  no — ofc,  no !  His  lordship  baa  not  left  col- 
lege yet ;  and  in  his  vacation  he  is  too  much 
occupied  to  think  about  me,  though  he  does 
write  to  nee,  and  send  at  times  to  kindly  in- 
quire about  me.  No,  my  dear  young  lady, 
the  old  Marquis  and  Marchioness  have  hon- 
ored me  by  calling  twice  upon  me  when  they 
have  come  to  town,  just  to  ask  after  my 
health  and  see  how  1  am  getting  on;  but 
young  Lord  Victor  has  not  been  to  this 
house,  and  I  daresay  never  will  come.  No, 
Miss,  when  I  want  to  see  him — and  I  can  tell 
you  that  is  not  seldom,  I  go  up  to  the  town- 
house,  or  manage  a  few  days  down  at  Tren- 
tham Park.  No,  no,  I  lon't  expect  to  eee  him 
here." 

Floret  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  took 
off  her  bonnet  and  mantle.  Ida  instantly  fol- 
lowed her  example,  clapped  her  hands  with 
glee,  went  down  upon  her  knees  before  the 
child,  began  to  tickle  and  play  with  it;  and 
Mrs.  Spencer,  with  a  bustling,  smiling  face, 
hurried  off  to  prepare  something  unusually 
tempting,  nice,  and  Eouriehing  for  dinner. 

Six  months  passed  away,  end  spring,  after 


an  unusually  cevere  winter,  had  arrived.  A 
rich,  beautiful,  blue-skyed,  warm  spring  ;  the 
leaves  and  blossoms,  the  Iruits,  and  tbe  flow- 
ers were  all  bursting  into  glorious  and  luxuri- 
ant life.  It  found  Floret  and  Ida  still  with 
Mrs.  Spencer;  and  it  found  them  greatly 
changed  in  appearance,  and  in  their  condition 
of  mind — that  is  to  eay,  Floret's  despair  had 
not  been  weakened,  diminidhed,  or  invaded 
even  by  the  shadow  of  a  hope,  but  ehe  was 
perfectly  calm  and  resigned  to  her  fate.  She 
expected  no  better  condition  than  that  she 
was  now  en  joy  L g  ;  and  as  all  ambition  was 
now  dead  within  her,  she  wished  for  no  other. 
She  was  contented,  and  even  outwardly  cheer- 
ful, for  she  did  not  obtrude  upon  Ida  the  one 
bitter,  cankering  sorrow  ever  gnawing  at  her 
own  heart,  whoee  corrosion,  if  not  arrested, 
would  eat  up  her  young  life,  and  that  at  no 
very  distant  period ;  and  she  exerted  herself 
many  times,  when  it  was  an  exertion,  to  make 
I  -a  lively  and  happy,  if  she  saw  that  83me  in- 
ward thoughts  traced  a  pensive  cloud  upoii 
her  brow. 

In  spite  of  her  settled  sadness,  there  was  a 
great  improvement  in  her  outward  appearance. 
The  absence  of  society,  the  regularity  of  liy- 
ing,  the  sufficiency  of  good  and  nourishing 
diet,  eould  not  fail  to  tell  favorably  upon  her 
frame,  and  she  appeared  now  more  lovely  than 
she  had  ever  done  before  in  her  life.  She  was 
tall,  her  figure  was  both  commanding  and 
graceful,  and  she  moved  with  the  ease  and  dig- 
nity not  only  of  one  born  in  a  high  sphere,  but 
of  one  who  was  also  bred  to  an  elevated  sta- 
tion. Mild,  even  meek,  in  her  words,  she  yet 
awed  Mrs.  Spencer ;  but  it  was  the  awe  which 
was  reverential,  not  that  which  is  created 
by  hauteur.  That  good  lady  could  not  help 
cogitating  much  about  her.  She  had  no  doubt, 
whatever  might  be  the  circumstances  which 
had  placed  her  in  BO  humble  a  condition,  that 
she  was  by  birth  connected  with  some  rery 
high  family,  and  she  treated  her  accordingly. 

Mrs.  Spencer  had  succeeded,  through  some 
influence  she  possessed,  in  obtaining  for  both 
Floret  and  Ida  fancy  work  of  the  rarer  kinds 
to  do,  from  an  establishment  in  Regent  street, 
and  she  kindly  acted  as  their  agent.  She  went 
for  orders,  and  took  them  home  when  executed, 
handing  over  to  Floret,  who  was  the  treasurer 
and  manager  for  both,  the  proceeds.  This 
work,  added  to  the  salary  which  Floret  had  for 
attending  to  and  instructing  the  little  orphan 
child,  enabled  both  her  and  Ida  to  provide 
themselves  with  a  small  wardrobe  each,  and  to 
appear  in  a  manner  more  agreeable  to  their 
wishes,  and  very  different  to  that  to  which  they 
had  been  accustomed.  Dress,  when  well  chosen, 
and  worn  with  becoming  taste,  is  en  aid  to  the 
beauty  of  even  the  most  beautiful.  Both 
Floret  and  Ida  were  exceedingly  good-looking, 
but  when  dreseed  in  their  new  actire,  fashioned 
and  trimmed  as  it  wes  according  to  the  latent 
mode,  they  were  sufficiently  elegant  in  their 
appearance  to  have  commanded  the  admiration 
of  thoee  from  whom  praise  would  be  praise  in- 
deed. 


HAGAR  LOT; 


That  shorfc  eix  mouths  had  douo  much  for 
them,  and  Mrs,  Spencer  waa  delighted  to  see 
how  much.  Her  nephew,  Bob,  true  to  his 
promise,  called  now  and  then  to  see  "  bow  they 
were  getting  on",  as  he  said ;  and  when  he  had 
seen,  he  Bever  failed  to  giro  a  joyous  twinkle 
of  the  eye,  a  screwing  smile  of  the  lip,  to  hold 
his  head  slightly  and  roguishly  on  one  aide, 
and  to  € jaeulate :  "  I  think  so."  He  sent  them 
in  many  little  luxuries,  which  thty  enjoyed, 
without  knowing  that  he  was  the  donor ;  and, 
even  in  their  wardrobe,  they  could  not  hare 
become  possessed  of  half  the  stcck  they  had 
had  acquired,  if  he  had  not  contrived  that  they 
should  obtain  them  at  rery  much  less  than  the 
cost  price. 

No  tidings  had  been  reeeired  of  Sunan  Atten 
by  Bob  since  Floret's  arrival  in  Pimlico,  and 
he,  by  that  silence,  couoluded  that  the  Veres 
and  Susan  were  on  th«ir  way  home.  Floret  waa 
not  grieved  at  (his  silence  in  fact,  it  would  be 
almost  just  to  say  that  she  was  rejoiced,  for  she 
had  a  distressing  fear  that,  if  Susan  did  come 
home,  and  they  were  to  be  rejoined,  that  ench 
a  reunion  would  only  bring  disaster  to  Susan, 
and  a  new  unhappiness  to  herself. 

As  she  was  now  situated,  she  was  peaceful 
and  resigned  ;  she  did  not  wish  to  disturb  her 
position :  and  though  wken  alone  she  frequent- 
ly examined  the  card  which  N"ak  Ferret  had 
given  to  her,  and  thought  with  no  common 
earnestness  over  his  inuendoes,  she  decided  not 
to  communicate  with  him.  She  could  not  nee 
how  her  condition  was  to  be  improved  by  sught 
that  he  could  accomplish ;  she  had  no  deaire 
to  make  it  worse,  and  she  certainly  had  no  wish 
to  bring  upon  herself  disgrace  and  humiliation 
by  publishing  to  the  world  the  infamy  of  her 
birth,  even  though  she  might  compel  a  greater 
amount  of  justice  to  be  rendered  to  her  than 
Lad  been  meted  out  to  her. 

She  thought  it  strange  that  Liper  Leper  had 
never  mada  his  appearance,  nor  had  sent  any 
communication  to  her ;  but  she  argued  from 
this  that  there  was  no  danger  approaching  her  ; 
and  she  felt,  consequently,  that  it  was  certain- 
ly advisable,  for  her  own  sake,  to  make  no 
movement  which  should  disturb  her  present 
peaceful  state. 

Having  got  over  her  fear  of  a  visit  from 
Lord  Tictor  to  Mrs.  Spencer,  it  was  the  source 
of  deep  but  silent  gratification  to  her  when  the 
old  lady  came  up  and  sat  with  them  to  have 
",'a  bit  of  chat",  as  she  said,  but  in  reality  to 
do  any  little  odd  job  in  mending  or  making 
they  might  require,  to  draw  her  into  a  conver- 
sation about  him.  If  the  old  dame  happened 
to  be  in  a  garrulous  vein,  she  went  into  num- 
berless particulars  about  his  boyhood,  which, 
but  for  her  good-humor,  would  never  have 
been  narrated. 

"  He  was  such  a  curious  boy,"  observed  the 
old  woman  one  day,  reflectively ;  •'  he  would 
set  his  heart  upon  things  no  one  but  he  would 
ever  dream  of  caring  a  pin  for.  Dear,  dear — 
what  an  awful  paseion  he  flew  into  one  day 
with  me!" 

"  With  you  I"  remarked  Ida,  with  a  quiet 


•mile.  "  I  Bhonl j  never  liavo  thought  that  ha 
could  have  been  out  of  temper  with  you — 
such  a  dear,  kind,  good  creature  as  you  are." 

Mrs.  Spencer  smiled. 

"  Ay,  but  he  could,  though,"  she  rejoined, 
"  and  all  through  a  bunch  of  rubbishing  wild 
flowers."  i 

"Wild  flowers!"  ejaculated  Floret,  softly, 
looking  up  from  her  work. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mrs.  Spencer,  "  a  nosegay 
of  wild  flowers,  which  some  poor,  little,  bare- 
legged, ragged  girl  gave  to  him  in  Trentham 
Wood  one  day — ah ! — it's  a  good  m»ny  years 
ago,  asd  yet  it  seems  but  yesterday." 

Floret  felt  her  heart  beat  rapidlj. 

"  Why  should  he  be  angry  wioh  you,  Mrs. 
Spencer,  on  account  of  the  flowers  ?"  she 
asked,  in  an  undertone,  looking  down  stead* 
faetly  upon  her  work  again.  i 

"  Well,  my  dear  young  Miss,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,"  replied  Mrs.  Bpencer,  smilingly,  "  I  be- 
lieve this  ragged  child,  a  mere  e'hit,  had  a 
very  pretty  face  ;  and,  boy  as  he  was,  he  liked 
a  girl  with  a  pretty  face  better  than  one  with 
an  ugly  one — the  rogue.  Ah,  me  1  It's  the 
aex,  Mias  ;  they're  all  alike—"  i 

"  But  the — the  flowers,"  suggested  Floret,  a 
little  anxiously. 

"  Well,  Miss,  I  cannot  tell  you  ell  the  cir- 
cumstances, how  he  came  by  the  flowers,  and 
so  on,"  pursued  Mrs.  Spencsr  ;  "  I  only  know 
that  one  day,  while  setting  his  ILtle  favorite 
room  to  rights — his  study,  Miss — I  notieed 
that  a  quantity  of  the  commoner  wild  flowers 
that  grow  by  the  hedgeside  had  been 
formed  into  a  bouquet,  and  put  «arefully  into 
a  white  vase,  with  some  water  to  preserve  them 
as  long  as  they  would  blow.  There  they  re- 
mained, day  after  day,  until  they  began  to  die 
off;  so  I  went  to  the  gardener,  and  made  him 
gather  me  a  very  pretty  bouquet  of  the  choicest 
flowers  in  blossom,  and  I  put  it  into  the  rase, 
instead  of  the  wild  flowers." 

"  What  did  you— what  became  of  the  wild 
flowers? '  ir quired  Floret,  in  a  voice  that  was 
scarcely  audible. 

"Ob,  I  threw  them  away,"  returned  Mra. 
Spencer,  promptly. 

How  at  that  moment  Floret  in  her  heart 
hated  Mrs.  Spencer. 

"Th«re  was  all  the  mischief,"  continued 
Mrs.  Spencer.  "  Lord  Victor  happened  to 
come  into  the  room  shortly  afterward,  and  I 
pointed  out  to  him  that  1  had  been  putting 
his  room  in"  order.  With  his  usual  courtesy 
and  goed  breeding,  he  thanked  me,  and 
praised  me  for  my  attention,  aad  for  the  or- 
derly arrangement  of  the  books  acd  papers, 
which  had  previously  been  scattered  about  the 
apartment  in  the  wildest  confusion.  In  the 
f  (illness  of  my  heart,  I  drew  hia  attention  to  the 
beautiful  bouquet,  with  which  I  had  replaced 
the  d^icg,  worthless  wild  flowers,  and  then  he 
stared  at  me,  end  absolutely  turn<nd  as  white  as 
a  ghost ;  just  as  if  I  had  abruptly  told  him 
that  something  dreadful  had  happened.  '  Mrs. 
Spencer,'  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice,  but  I  hetrd 
it  shake,  though,  *  Mrs.  Specccr,  vrhere  have 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL, 


91 


you  placed  the  \vilcl  flowera  that  were  in  the 
vaee  ?'  '  1  have  thrown  them  away,  my  Lord,' 
I  answered,  rather  meekly,  for  I  began  to  fancy 
I  had  done  wrong  ;  when,  dear  me !  dear  me  I  he 
flew  into  the  most  awful  passion  for  a  young 
gentleman  that  you  can  imagine — 0!  you 
couldn't  imagine  it.  He  threw  the  vase,  and 
the  flowers  I  had  obtained  from  the  gardener 
for  him,  out  of  the  window ;  he  raved  and 
stamped  about  the  room  in  a  perfect  frenzy  ; 
and  what  do  you  think  he  continued  saying"?" 

Floret  was  silent ;  her  heart  beat  so  violent- 
ly that  the  pjwer  of  articulation  was  denied 
altogether. 

"  Why,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Spencer,  without 
waiting  for  her  reply,  "  he  kept  saying  that 
they  were  the  unsolicited  gift  of  a  poor  girl, 
and  that  he  prized  them  more  dearly  on  that 
account  than  if  they  had  been  given  to  him 
by  an  «m  press." 

"What  a  darling!"  ejaculated  Ida,  in  the 
most  impressive  manner 

"I  never  before,  nor  have  I  ever  since,  seen 
him  in  such,  a  frenzy,"  resumed  Mrs.  Spencer  : 
"  I  did  not  kaow  how  to  pacify  him ;  and  I 
begged  him  to  tell  me  what  I  could  do  to  re- 
pair the  mischief  I  had  done.  He  seemed 
convulsed  with  passion ;  but  a*  length,  looking 
at  me  furiously,  he  said  that  I  could  do  noth- 
ing but  restore  the  flowers,  which  I  had  so 
thoughtlessly,  BO  heedlessly,  so  wickedly  flung 
away.  Fortunately,  I  remembered  where  I  had 
tossed  them,  and  trembling  all  over,  and  quite 
in  a  profuse  perspiration,  I  hurried  to  the  spot, 
and  eure  enough,  to  my  own  great  delight, 
there  they  were,  lying  just  as  I  had  thrown 
them.  I  whipped  them  up,  and  hurried  back 
with  them  to  him.  When  I  showed  them  to 
him,  he  absolutely  snatched  them  from  me, 
and  then  bade  me  leave  him  to  himself.  1  was 
glad  enough  to  get  away  from  him  that  morn- 
ing I  assure  you." 

41  But  what  did  he  do  with  the  flowers  ?"  in- 
quired Ida,  with  evident  interest,  while  Floret, 
with  face,  neck,  bosom,  suffused  with  the 
crimson,  remained  quite  silent. 

"  O,"  returned  Mrs.  Spencer,  shrugging  her 
shoulders,  "  1  happened  to  take  a  message  to 
him  from  the  Marquis  about  an  hour  after- 
ward, and  there  he  was,  busily  engaged  with 
some  pieces  of  blottirg-paper,  and  I  do  not 
know  what  else  beside,  drying  and  fussing 
with  those  stupid  flowers,  laying  them  careful- 
ly upon  the  sheets  of  paper,  separating  the 
leaves  and  blossoms  with  such  patience  and 
perseverance,  it  was  quite  wonderful  to  be- 
held. 'There,'  Mrs.  Spencer,' he  said,  with 
glee,  when  he  perceived  me  observing  him  with 
surprise, « there,  you  see,  I  take  more  care  of  a 
gift  than  you  do.'  Of  course,  I  couldn't  say 
anything,  and  I  did  not ;  I  only  thought  what 
a  strange  boy  he  was.  My  life  for  ifc,  he  has 
those  very  flowers  carefully  put  away  in  some 
secret  place  now.  Dear,  dear,  the  fuss  there 
was  about  those  poor  wild  flowers. 

Floret  bent  her  head  lower  and  lower  over 
her  work,  as  Mrs.  Spencer  drew  toward  a  con- 
olu|ion,  to  conceal  the  thickly-falling  tearc, 


which,  in  spite  of  her  effotta  to  conceal  them, 
would  force  their  way  from  her  eyelids.  A 
sigh,  of  euch  deep,  such  acute  ageny,  and  so 
prolonged,  escaped  from  her  lips  that  it  reach- 
ed Ida's  eara. 

She  turned  her  eyes  instantly  upon  Floret, 
and  perceived  her  emotion.  Tbe  truth  at 
once  flashed  through  her  brain.  She  remem- 
bered now  where  she  had  heard  the  name  of 
Lord  Victor.  She  remembered  now  'that  she 
had  seen  him,  loo. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  that  Floret,  hav- 
ing met  him  under  some  circumstances  with 
which  she  was  unacquainted,  had  fallen  in  love 
with  him,  and  that  at  a  time  when  the  eyes  oee 
through  the  heart—  when  the  judgment,  tram-  1 
meled  by  love,  perceives  no  distinction  of  posi-  A 
tion,  and  thinks  nothing  impossible  that  it 
wishes  to  happea.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
guess  that  her  judgment,  having  become 
clearer,  pointed  out  to  her  that  her  love  was 
hopeless,  and  that  she  had  surrendered  her 
heart  to  a  chimera.  j 

Ida  understood  all,  and  respected  as  she 
sympathized  with  Floret's  silent  grief;  ehe 
hoped  that  ifc  might  not  be  her  own  case.  She 
mentally  thanked  Heaven  that  she  had  not 
fallen  iu  love  with  Hjde  Vaughau,  wlio  was 
Lord  Victor's  companion,  because,  if  she  had, 
there  could  be  EO  doubt  that  her  own  plight 
would  bo  as  pitiable  as  that  of  Floret. 

Uot  that  Hyde  Vaughan  was,  in  her  opin- 
ion, less  handsome,  Ifss  attractive,  lees  lov- 
able at  first  sight  than  Lord  Victor ;  indeed,  if 
there  were  to  arise  a  situation  hi  which  it 
would  be  necessary  for  her  to  betray  a  prefer- 
ence, she  rather  fancied  that  Hjde  Vaughan 
would  stand  the  best  chance  of  wicnicg  it 
from  her  ;  but,  withal,  she  was  not  in  love  wM* 
him.  No  ;  she  had  not  seen  enough  of  him  for 
that.  No  ;  her  heart  was  quite^her  own  as 
yet,  and  Hydo  Vaughan  might,  for  her,  marry 
whomsoever  he  pleased.  She  felt,  it  is  true, 
that  she  should  deliberately,  and  without 
qualification,  hate  his  wife,  though  that  would, 
she  knew,  be  very  wrong  ;  but  that  was  by  way 
of  episode,  and  as  ehe  should  probably  never 
see  her,  and  certainly  never  ksew  her,  she  fan- 
cied that,  wrong  as  it  was,  there  could  not  be 
much  harm  in  it.  Just  to  show,  in  fact,  that 
she  could  epeak  of  him  with  ease,  and  would 
not  be  in  any  degree  affeoted  by  the  mention 
of  his  name,  or  the  relation  of  any  circum- 
stances with  which.  b«  was  affected,  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Spencer : 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  Lord  Victor  had  a 
friend — a  dear  male  friend — to  whom  he  waa 
very  strongly  attached?'' 

"Yep,"  returned  Mra.  Spencer,  with  sur- 
prise. "  Why,  my  dear  ?" 

"O,  nothing -nothing,"  ehe  returned,  sud- 
denly, blushiuar,  and  exhibiting  her  coolness 
and  self-possession  by  a  half-frightened  look. 
"  I  only  thought  that  a  young  gentleman — a 
young  nobleuinn — w — who  waB — so  fond  of  a  • 
young — of  a  poor — a  bunch  of  wild  flowers — a 
— must  be — must  be  passionately  fond  of  a — 
friend.  That  waa  all,"  she  returned,  vith  much 


HAGAR  LOT  j 


eonfaeion.  She  was,  in  fact,  herself  surprised 
that  her  uneoncern  was  not  so  available  as  ehe 
thought  it  would  have  proved. 

"  Well,  Lord  Victor  certakly  did  have,  and 
he  now  has,  a  most  intimate  companion  and 
friend,  of  whom  he  was  much  fonder  than  of 
his  own  brother,  and  that  was  the  Honorable 
Hyde  Vaogban,"  returned  Mrs.  Spencer, 
calmly.  "  I  expect  him  heri  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, at  eleven  ;  be  is  to  bring  me  a  message 
from  the  Mdrcjuia  of  BroaJlands,  who  does 
not  forget  me  when  be  has  an  opportunity  of 
eendiag  to  me.  "Would  you  likd  to  see  him  ? 
•—he  is  such  a  nice,  handsome  young  gentle, 
man." 

"  Not  for  the  world?"  exclaimed  Floret  and 
Iday  luth  on«  breath. 

Mrs.  Spencer  looked  at  them  with  surprise, 
and  then  she  laughed. 

"Ah!"'  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "you 
will  neither  of  yon  always  be  ao  desirous  of 
shunning  the  eight  of  a  gentleman  !  Mr.  Eight 
Kill  present  himself  at  the  right  time,  and 
you'll  both  ef  you  find  yourselves  married  al- 
most before  you  have  any  idea  of  changing 
your  condition." 

Ta«  next  morning,  Floret  confined  herself 
to  her  chamber.  Ida  did  the  same ;  but 
jumped  and  startled  every  time  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  street-door,  or  a  ring  at  the  bell. 
As  the  clock  was  striking  eleven,  Mrs.  Spencer 
came  into  the  sitting-room,  and  told  Ida  that 
there  wan  a  person  below  who  wished  to  seo 
her.  Her  cheek  blanched,  and  her  young 
heart  palpitated  furiously.  She  inquired  of 
Mrs.  Spencer,  with  a  face  AS  white  as  death, 
who  it  could  be  who  wanted  to  s«e  her. 

u  A  yonBg  woman  from  Regent  street,  about 
some  fresh  work  for  yo  a  ;  she  wishes  to  give 
the  in  s  true  lions  only  to  yourself,"  returned 
Mrs.  Spencer. 

Ida  Hew  down  stairs  like  a  bird.  Mrs. 
Spencer  followed  her,  at  a  slow  pace. 

In  the  hall,  Ida  ran  into  the  arms  of  a  gen- 
tleman, who,  at  the  moment,  had  opened~the 
door  and  entered. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  I"  he  exclaimed  ;  and, 
as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Ida's  face,  he  ejacu- 
lated :  "  Good  Heaven !" 

It  was  Hyde  Vaughan. 

A  f*int  scream  burst  from  Ida's  Hps,  She 
was  about  to  fly  up  the  etaira  *gain,  but  he 
caught  her  by  the  wrist. 

"  One  wore!,  I  entreat  of  you,"  he  said,  hast- 
ily.   "  Do  you  live  here  ?" 
,     "  Yes,"  she  replied,  faintly. 

"  I  nausfc  fee  you  again,"  he  said  rapidly. 
"I  Bauet  speak  with  you  alone — say — think, 
.  how  it  ean  be  managed." 
'      "  It  is  im  possible!"  she  murmured,  and  tried 
.  to  disengage  herself  from  his  grasp, 
jf      "  It  is  imperative,  and  not  impossible,"  he 
urged.    *'  Be  quick  ;  some  one  comes.  Wbere 
can  I  eee  yon  ?    You  have  no  idea  of  the  im- 
portance of  what  I  ask." 

She  flung  off  his  hand,  and,  witft  a  dignity 
which  startled  him,  said : 

"I  have  told  you,  Sir,  that  I  live  here.    If 


you  have  anything  important  to  say  to  me 
address  me  through  Mrs.  Spencer." 

'*  You  do  not  understand  me  I"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Nor  do  yon  understand  me,"  she  returned, 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  brow. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Spencer  made  her  ap- 
pearance ;  the  Honorable  Hyde  Vauchan  im- 
mediately addressed  her,  and  she  conducted 
him,  with  much  stately  eercmony,  into  her 
sitting-room.  Simultaneously  the  young  wom- 
an from  the  house  m  Regent  street — who  had, 
unobserved,  been  standing  ia  a  dark  corner  of 
the  hall — emerged  from  her  obscurity,  and 
placed  a  parcel  in  Ida's  hands.  With  it  she 
entered  into  a  series  of  particulars  of  which 
Ida  had  only  the  haziest  notion.  She  heard 
her  to  the  end,  however,  with  apparent  pa- 
tience and  attention,  although  she  trembled 
so  that  the  young  woman  not'«ed  it,  and  bade 
her  recover  herself,  and  think  nothing  of  it — 
for  that  gentlemen  were  very  impudent,  and 
were  always  ready  to  insult  a  poor  girl  when 
they  had  the  chance. 

As  soon  as  the  girl  bad  completed  the  direc- 
tions she  was  instructed  to  give,  she  departed, 
and  Ida  flew  up  the  staire,  and  entering  the 
sitting-room,  looked  round  for  Floret.  She 
was  not  there— the  little  Indian  girl  was 
seated  at  the  tabl«,  busy  at  her  books ;  but 
she  was  alone. 

Ida  laid  down  h«r  parcel  of  fancy-work,  and 
ran  into  the  bed-room  ;  Floret  was  seated  on 
the  bed,  and  in  tears. 

Ida,  in  her  excitement,  did  not  notice  this. 
She  flung  her  trembling  arms  round  Floret's 
neck,  and  said,  ia  a  voice  which  quivered  in 
every  tone : 

"  O  darling,  I've  s«en  him — I've  seen  him  P' 

With  a  fa<w  paler  than  marble,  FJoret  re- 
joined : 

"Whom?    Lord  Victor!" 

"  No—no,"  whispered  Ida ;  "  hia  dear  friend 
and  compaEioB,  Mr.  Hyde  Vaughan." 

Floret  became  as  coid  as  ice.  Ifc  was  much 
the  same  as  if  she  had  seen  Lord  Victor. 

She  knew  that  her  present  home  could  be 
her  pleasant  home  no  longer. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  Acd  there  with  glassj  gaze  the  stood, 
Aa  ice  were  in  her  curdled  blood  ; 
But  every  now  acd  then  a  tear, 
So  large  and  ilovly  gather'd,  slid 
From  the  long  dark  fringe  of  that  fair  lid — 
It  waa  a  thing  to  tee,  not  hear  ! 
And  those  who  saw,  it  did  surprise, 
Such  drops  could  fall  from  human  eyes. 
To  speak  the  thought — th'  imperfect  note 
Was  choked  within  her  swelling  throat, 
Yet  seem'd  in  that  low,  hollow  groan, 
Her  whole  heart  gmshing  in  the  tone." 

-BTROK. 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Floret  recov- 
ered from  her  agitation  sufficiently  to  ask,  and 
Ida  had  obtained  a  mastery  over  her  excitement 
to  explain,  what  transpired  at  the  interview  be- 
tween the  latter  and  the  Honorable  Hyde 
Vaughan  in  the  hall. 

When,  with  parched  white  lips,  Ida  had  re- 
lated all  that  she  had  to  communicate,  Fiorel 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


thought  that  it  aiobnnted  to  nothing ;  Ida,  to  a 
Very  great  deal.  Floret  imagined>  as  it  was 
perfectly  natural  for  her  to  do,  that  Hy^e 
Vaugban  would  have  put  fifty  questions  to  Ida 
about  her.  Ida  had  no  idea  that  Hyde  Vaughan 
had  any  thoughts  in  his  head  about  any  other 
than  herself. 

1  As  she  thought  over  what  had  happened,  she 
fancied  that  she  had  behaved  harshly,  coldly, 
cruelly  to  him.  Why  should  her  spirit  have 
rebelled  at  his  request?  why  should  she  in- 
stinctively have  felt  wounded  by  his  proposi- 
tion to  her  to  meet  him  alone?  What  was 
there  wrong  in  it  ?  he  might  have  something 
to  say  to  her  which  he  wished  no  one  to  hear 
but  herself.  And  what  could  he  have  to  say 
to  her  that  esuld  possibly  offend  her  ? 

His  hand  was  so  silken  and  soft,  his  eyes  so 
earnest  and  pleading,  bla  voice  eo  tender  and 
persuasive.  She  was  vexed  with  herself  for 
having  been  so  cross  to  him.  It  was  very 
likely  that  she  should  never  s«e  him  again,  and 
she  had  only  hereelf  to  blame  for  it. 

Sh«  thought  that  he  looked  so  sorrowful 
when  she  tore  bereelf  away  from  him,  and  she 
promised  herself  that  if  another  opportunity 
for  a  meeting  occurred,  she  would  not  be  so 
cold  or  so  grand  to  him. 

Poor  girl !  she  did  not  understand  in  what 
dkection  those  feelings  in  his  favor  tended,  or 
if  nourished,  how  fatal  they  might  prove  to 
herself.  - 

Floret,  after  &  short  silence,  intimated  to  her 
that  it  would  be  imperative  upon  them  to  quit 
Mrs.  Spencer's  house  and  seek  another  home  ; 
but  Ida,  though  she  said  nothing,  was  unable 
to  seethe  necessity  for  any  such  removal. 

She  was,  however,  prepared  to  follow 
wherever  Floret  led ;  but  it  would  have  been 
a  dangerous  situation  for  her  if,  at  the  moment 
ghe  was  meditating  on  Floret's  intimation, 
Hyde  Vaughan  had  stood  at  her  elbow,  and 
presented  to  her  the  alternative  of  his  society, 
a  pleasant  home,  and  no  probability  of  future 
want. 

Tne  two  girls,  after  their  communion,  await- 
ed with  some  impatience  and  some  dread  the 
coming  of  Mrs.  Spencer,  and  though  she  did 
come  at  her  usual  time  to  attend  upon  them,  it 
seemed  Icng  after  it.  They  did  not  turn  their 
eyes  up  to  her,  they  listened  ior  a  change  in 
hfcr  tone,  and  a  communication  of  which  they 
could  form  no  idea,  save  that  it  would  not  be 
favorable  to  them. 

To  their  surprise,  there  was  BO  change  in 
the  old  lady's  voice  or  in  her  conduct.  She 
was  as  cheerful  and  as  chatty  as  usual,  and 
went  through  the  routine  of  her  duties  as  ex 
actly  as  she  had  always  done. 

And  she  made  no  communication  to  them 
arising  out  of  the  visit  of  the  Honorable  Hyde 
Vaughan. 

She  did  not  even  mention  his  name. 
:    And  a  whole  week  paesed  away  without 
her  eaying  anything  about  him,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  Floret  and  the  amazing  disappoint- 
ment of  Ida. 
;     Tibia  conduct  appeared  BO  singular  to  Ida 


after  what  he  had  said  to  her.  He  declared 
hat  be  had  something  very  important  to  com- 
munic^te  to  her;  and  if  he  had,  ehe  thought, 
why  had  he  not  accepted  her  proportion  and 
addressed  her  through  Mrs.  S^enctr? 

Sbe  wished  now  that  she  had  stopped  and 
is'ened  to  what  he  had  to  say.  Floret;  haoj 
jraised  her  warmly  for  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  acted  upon  the  occasion  of  meeting 
ilm — she  was  not  so  sure  herself  that  she  had 
doce  wisely.  j 

And  she'fretted  and  fretted,  and  formed  vain 
wishes,  and  in  this,  at  least,  acted  very  un-  ' 
wisely. 

And  as  the  time  wore  on,  the  work  respect- 
ng  which  she  had  received  instructions  was  I 
completed,  and  it  was  sent  home.     A  message 
was,  however,  returned  to  her  to  fay  that  the 
nstruotioES  given  had  not  been  followed  ;  but, 
as  the  work  was  very  beautifully  executed,  it 
would  be  retained,  and  materials   for  a  fresh 
piece,  to  be  executed  according  to  the  original 
nstructions,  would   be  given  out ;  but,  in  or- 
der to  prevent  any  farther  mistakes,  the  >  oung 
ady  who  had  done  the  work  was  requested  to 
receive  the  iEstructions  personally  from  the 
principal    of    the    eatabli&iment    in    Regent 
itreet. 

After  some  consultation,  it  was  arranged 
that  Ida  should  accompany  the  young  woman 
who  brought  the  message  back  to  Regent 
street,  and  that  Mrs.  Spencer,  who  was  then 
busy,  should,  when  at  liberty,  go  and  meet 
her,  and  accompany  her. 

A  route  was  laid  down,  so  that  it  would  be 
im possible  to  miss  each  other,  and  the  ar- 
rangement was  carried  out. 

Floret  was  left  alone  with  the  little  Indian 
girl. 

The  afternoon  was  warm  and  sonny,  anfl  the 
child,  overcome  by  the  heat,  fell  into  a  deep 
slumber.  Floret  conveyed  her  to  her  bed,  and 
laying  her  gently  upon  it,  watcbed  her  a  few 
moments.  Observing  that  she  slept  tranquilly, 
she  returned  to  her  titting-rocm,  and  occupied 
herself  with  some  needlework  while  ehe  in- 
dulged in  a  fit  of  abstraction. 

In  deep  and  profound  thought  she  remained 
for  some  little  time,  and  at  lengthshe  heaved  a 
profound  sigh,  and  murmured : 

"  He  did  not  despise  my  poor  flowers,  how 
can  I  help  honoring  him,  if  only  for  that.  He 
was  so  respectful  and  gentle,  too,  and — " 

She  pau  ed,  her  eyelids  became  distended, 
her  lips  parted,  and  an  expression  of  in.ense 
amazement  passed  over  her  features. 

In  the  doorway,  regarding  her  with  earnest 
attention  and  unequivocal  admiration,  stood  a 
young  and  elegant  man. 

Sbe  sprang  to  her  feet,  for  she  saw  that  it 
was  Lord  Victor  Trentham  who  stood  before 
her. 

A  faint  scream  escaped  her  lips,  and  her  im- 
pulse was  to  fly— but  whither?  Tbenv  too, 
there  came  to  her  instantly  the  impression  that 
s^sh  an  act  would  be  childish,  and  opposed  to 
certain  dignified  feelings  which  were  inherent 
in  her,  and  which  mostly  determined  her  ac- 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


tion,  when  impulses  and  iiMihtsta  would  have 
induced  h«r  to  take  Botee^oXxree  of  which  they 
did  not  approve. 

She  fitood  etill,  and  unable  to  bear  the  soft 
yet  intense  gaze  of  his  luatrious  liquid  eyes, 
she  bent  her  head  toward  the  ground. 

"  I  have  to  apologize  to  you  for  an  apparent 
intrusion,"  commenced  Lord  Victor,  in  a  soft 
and  gentle  tone.  '•  I  assure  you  that  my  ap- 
pearance here  is  not  intended  as  such,  and  be- 
fore I  leave,  I  hope  that  you  will  acknowledge 
that  it  has  not  been  one.  I  have  been  seeking 
for  Mrs.  Spencer  all  over  the  houee  ;  I  was  in- 
formed that  I  should  find  her  in  this  room.  I 
gave  a  gentle  summons  &t  the  door  here.  I 
presume  that  yon  did  not  hear  me,  for  I  have 
stood  in  your  presence  almost  a  minute  before 
you  have  discovered  me.  Let  me  explain  why 
I  did  this.  I  am  here,  I  at  once  admit,  for  tho 
purpose  of  eeeing  you  ;  but,  when  my  eyes 
first  fell  upon  your  face,  I  was  not  qure  cer- 
tain that  I  had  entered  the  right  apartment,  or 
that  I  was  about  to  address  the  lady  of  whom 
I  cacie  hither  in  search.  A  second  glance  re- 
assured me,  however,  that  I  was  gazing  upon 
a  fftee  which  was  indelibly  fixed  upon  my 
memory  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  which,  I  am 
quite  sure,  will  never  fade  from  it  while  I 
live." 

Floret  was  very  pale,  and  breathed  with  dif- 
ficulty ;  but,  though  the  task  was  a  difficult 
one,  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

"  Cruelty,  my  Lord,  I  do  not  believe  to  be  a 
fault  of  yours.  I  have  been  given  to  under- 
stand that  you  would  not  wantonly  inj  ure  a 
worm.  I  beg  of  you  to  spare  me  the  pain  of 
compliments.  You  have  ventured  bravely  in 
my  b«half,  do  not  wound  me  now  that  I  am 
helpless." 

"  It  was  not  with  a  view  of  complimenting 
you  that  I  referred  to  a  fact,"  he  answered. 
"  The  circumstances  attending  the  few  meet- 
ings which  have  taken  place  between  us  have 
been  so  exceptional  that,  without  attempting 
to  pay  a  mere  compliment,  I  am  justified  in 
asserting  that  it  is  improbable  I  shall  ever  for- 
get your  face,  or  the  circumstances  und«r 
which  we  have  met." 

"  I  give  you  credit  for  truth,"  said  Floret, 
in  the  same  undertone,  which  quivered  at  ev- 
ery word.  "  That,  I  have  learned,  is  one  of 
your  virtues— let  me  hope  that  among  the 
many  noble  qualities  attributed  to  you,  you 
possess  oompassion." 

'•Compassion!"  he  ejaculated,  with  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,  my  Lord,  I  repeat — compassion," 
she  rejoined  with  emotion,  which  she  found  it 
impossible  to  conceal.  "  You  know  something 
of  my  history — enough  to  make  it  appear 
strange  to  you — painful,  O  Heaven  !  inconceiv- 
ably painful  to  me.  There  are— are  some  per- 
son?, my  Lord,  whose  opinions  of  us  we  treat 
wr.h  vineoncern — there — there  are  others — 
whose  good  opinion  we  should  deem  cheaply 
purchased  by  the  Baciifiee  of  a  life— whose — 
scorn — whose  disdain — whose  contempt  would 
be  worse — worse  than  any  death — any  torture 


— any  fcotrdls  ol  tfftftiy  which  huaiia  rualiguiiy 
or  fcrc^ity  could  dtvise." 

Sb«  turned  her  head  away. 

*'  How  can  this  apply  to  me?"  he  said,  quick- 
ly and  anxiously.  She  remained  si?ei.t. 

"  I  should  feel  keenly  wounded,  I  confess," 
he  continued,  with  a  solicitous  expression,  "  if 
I  were  to  imagine  that  you  held  my  opinion  of 
you  with  unconcern ;  but  you  inflict  upon 
yourself  most  unnecessary  pain,  if  you  con- 
ceive for  an  instant  that  at  any  time  the  opin- 
ion  I  do  hold  of  you  could  degenerate  iato  a 
sentiment  which,  while  it  could  never  be 
derogatory  to  you,  would  be  mobt  unworthy 
to  me." 

*'  You  do  not  know,  my  Lord,  what  feeling  a 
knowledge  of  my  unhappy  history  might  gen- 
erate in  your  breast,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  and 
added,  in  a  beseeching  tone,  '*!  entreat  you, 
therefore,  to  spare  me  the  misery  of  listening 
to  any  proposition  you  may  be  here  with  the 
purpose  of  making  to  me,  and  which  I  know, 
before  I  hear  it,  I  must  reject ;  and  I  pray  of 
you  to  conclude  an  interview  at  the  earliest 
moment,  which — whatever  may  be  its  influ- 
ences upon  you— inflicts  upon  me  the  most 
acute  anguish." 

"  I  will  not  discuss  the  point  with  you,"  re- 
plied Lord  Victor,  in  a  tender  and  soothing—- 
rather than  a  compassionate— tone  ;  "  that  £. 
feel  would  be  a  proceeding  calculated,  indeed,. 
to  inflict  unnecessary  pair*  upon  you  .and  upon 
me — for  it  13  no  idle  observation  thoughtlessly 
made  which  urges  me  to  say,  that  to'  see  you, 
suffer  would  make  me  suffer  too." 

Again  she  turned  her  head  from  him,  and  he 
could  see,  by  the  heaving  of  her  bosom,  how- 
great  was  tiie  inward  emotion  that  she  was  en- 
during. 

"  I  will,  on  the  contrary,  proceed  to  lay  be- 
fore you  the  mission  with  which  I  am  in- 
trusted," he  continued,  a  little  hurriedly.;. 
'  and  if,  during  my  statement,  any  question* 
should  arise  that  will  enable  me  to  combat 
the  morbid  views  which  I  will  venture  to  say 
you  needlessly  entertain,  it  will  be  fair  ground 
on  which  to  meet  you,  and  will,  I  have  no 
doubt,  rob  the  Discussion  of  at  least  much  of 
the  pain  ib  mi^ht  otherwise  entail  upon  you." 

"With  an  (ffjrt,  Floret  turned  to  him,  and 
said,  in  a  subdued  tone  : 

"  Proceed,  my  Lord,  I  will  listaa  to  you." 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  with  a- gratified  ex- 
pression— whether  assumed  or  not  is  of  no 
consequence  ;  it  was,  at  least,  intended  that 
ehe  should  believe  it  to  be  such,  and  she  did 
think _so.  "Before  I  proceed  any  further," 
he  added,  "  allow  me  to  request  of  you  to  fa- 
vor me  with  the  name  by  which  throughout 
our  discourse,  and  in  future,  I  shall  address 
you." 

She  looked  full  in  his  face,  with  a  sudden 
movement,  which  almost  startled  him.  He 
saw,  however,  by  the  expression  of  unutterable 
pain  and  misery  which  appeared  on  her  death- 
Jy  fvhite  features,  that  hia  abrupt  question  had 
inflicted  upon  her  the  mast  severe  and  acute 
torture. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOH  GIRL. 


95 


With  neme  embarrassment  Le  euid,  hastily, 
and  in  an  earnest  tone  : 

"  You  will  remember  thafc  I  know  yen  only 
by  the  name  which  you  gave  to  me  when  I  was 
but  a  boy,  and  you  a  mere  child.  When  I  met 
you  upon  one  Thursday  in  Treuthara  "Wood, 
you  told  me  that  your  name  was  the  POOB 
GIRL  ;  and  that  though  you  were  called  occa- 
sionally by  the  name  of  Floret,  you  .preferred 
the  former  title." 

She  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  sob- 
bed violently— so  violently,  that  Lord  Victor 
appeared  greatly  distressed  by  her  emotion. 

And  through  her  tears  she  said,  wildly  : 

"  Call  me  by  that  name — address  me  alone 
as  the  Pooa  GIRL,  It  ia  now  the  only  name  I 
can  justly  claim — it  ia  the  only  name  which 
truly  conveys  my  most  miserable  condition." 

*'I  beg  of  you  to  exert  the  better  qualities 
of  your  mind,"  responded  Lord  Victor,  grave- 
ly, "  and  compose  yourself.  Theee  wild  bursts 
of  grief  injure  you — surely  they  serve  you 
nothing.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  control  your 
anguish,  and  to  look  forward  hopefully  to  a 
brighter  term  cf  your  life." 

44  That  is  impossible,  my  Lord !"  she  ex- 
claimed, almost  vehemently,  and  added,  im- 
patiently :  "  I  am  prepared  to  endure  my  fate 
—to  go  ihfongh  it  to  the  end  henceforward 
without  a  vain  murmur  or  useless  complain- 
ing. I  know  the  worst — and  knowing  it,  am 
prepared  to  bear  it ;  but  I  am  not,  and  I  feel 
that  I  never  shall  be,  able  to  endure  euch  dis- 
cussions respecting  it  as  this,  which  is  now,  my 
Lord,  takiug  place  between  you  and  me.  Spare 
me,  I  implore  you — take  your  departure  from 
me,  and  forget  me— forget  that  one  who  ia  un- 
conscious how  she  has  "deserved  of  Heaven  a 
fate  so  miserable  ae  that  which  she  has  had  to 
undergo,  and  will  have  to  endure,  ever  Lad  any 
existence." 

He  gazed  at  hor  with  sorrowful  earnest- 
ness. 

"  I  listen  to  you,  Floret,"  he  rejoined — ' 
adopting  the  nam«  which,  in  his  estimation, 
was  the  least  objectionable  of  the  tw^o  which 
had  been  submitted  to  him  to  select  from — "  I 
listen  to  you  needfully,  and  I  will  treat  your 
wishes  with  reaped;  when  I  have  lost  all  hope 
of  making  you  think  differently  to  what  you 
do  now.  But  there  is  something  due  to  you 
from  others  who  are  interested  in  your  fate 
which  you  have  no  right  to  control.  An  in- 
dividual afflicted  with  dire  despair  may  iiing 
himself  into  a  river  with  the  view  of  ending 
his  life  ;  it  ia  the  duty  of  those  vrho  may  ob- 
serve hioi  to  rescue  him,  if  they  can,  and  he 
has  no  right  to  resist  them.  Because,  in  the 
first  plaee,  he  is  in  the  commission  of  a  sinful 
act,  and,  in  the  second,  it  is  imposeible  for  him 
to  foresee  what  happy  change  in  his  destiny 
may  possibly  occur.  5Tou  are  very  ycung, 
Floret — too  ycung  to  entertain  euch  a  senti- 
ment aa  hopeless  despair — too  premature  in 
nourishing  it  before  you  know  that  there  ia 
not  a  path  or  loophole  of  escape  for  you  exist- 
ing. Li.  t  me  repeat  that  I  know  something  of 
your  hibtory—  niore  than  you  ean  imagine — 


more  than  I  believe  yoa  are  yoaradf  acquaint- 
ed  with." 

Floret  covered  her  eyes  with  her  trembling 
fingers,  and  slowly  shook  her  head. 

44  Listen  to  me,  Floret,"  he  said,  gently,  but 
impressively.  "  You  are  aware  how  we  met 
in  Trentham  Wood.  On  that  occasion,  you 
made  the  impression  on  me  that  you  were  no 
common  child.  Boy  as  I  was,  I  had  heard  f 
that  gipaies  kidnapped  the  children  of  the 
rich,  and  brought  them  up  iu  obscurity  until 
they  were  of  an  age  which  enabled  them  to 
make  money  of  them,  either  by  restoring 
them  to  their  parents,  or  by  keeping  them  ig- 
norant of  their  real  condition,  while  they  ex- 
torted sums  from  the  person  unjustly  in  pos- 
session of  their  property.  I  concluded,  then, 
that  you  were  the  child  of  some  wealthy  par- 
ents, who  bad  been  eo  kidnapped,  and  as  such 
I  treasured  you  in  my  memory.  I  was  laugh- 
ed at  as  being  Quixotic  when  I  suggested  that 
you  ought  to  be  rescued,  and  I  was  reasoned 
with  upon  what  was  termed  my  folly,  for  it 
was  suggested  to  me  that,  even  if  my  suppo- 
sition proved  correct,  the  gipdes  would  refuse 
to  reveal  your  parentage,  and  if  ib  proved  in- 
correct, I  should  be  taking  a  gipsy  child  away 
from  ita  natural  protectors. 

u  I  was  bound  to  listen  and  obey ;  but 
neither  the  ridicule  nor  the  reasoning  induced 
me  to  change  my  opinion.  I  preserved  it  in 
eecrefr,  under  th«  strange  impression  that  I 
should  someday  be  the  means  of  your  deliv- 
erance. We  met  at  Ascot  races — a  etrange 
event  happened  there,  which  confirmed  me  in 
my  opinion  ;  but  I  was  debarred  from  interfer- 
ence, because  I  believed  that  you  hed  been  re- 
covered by  your  fiiends.  Still  the  belief 
clung  to  me  that  we  should  meet  again,  and 
that  I  should  in  som«  way  prove  instrumental 
to  your  restoration  to  that  position  to  which, 
it  was  my  opinion,  that  you  were  born.  I  did 
meet  you  again,  and  placed  yen  in  the  care  of 
the  Countess  of  Braekldgh.  From  her  cus- 
tody you  were  abstracted  by  the  old  villain  ia 
whoee  clutches  I  afterward  discovered  you,  and 
from  whose  power  I  was  prevented,  through 
my  own  hasty  indiscretion  anci  want  of  proper 
precaution,  from rsecuing  you.  Although  you 
were  borne  away,  I  still  feit  convinced  \bat  I 
should  again  meet  with  you,  and,  owing  to 
the  fortunate  circumstance  of  ray  dear  friend, 
Hyde  Vaughan,  having  encountered  the 
young  lady  who  was  your  companion  iu  Tren- 
iham  Wood  here  m  tue  house  of  an  old  end 
valued  servant  of  my  father't — I  mean  Mrs. 
Spencer — I  have  b^en  enabled  to  do  eo.  AB 
soon  as  he  quitted  here,  he  communicated  with 
me.  I  hastened  to  asstire  myself  that  you 
were  really  in  this  house,  and  taen  I  presented 
myself  to  the  Countess  of  Brackhigh,  who 
eeema  to  know  very  much  cf  yocr  history, 
who  ia  deeply  interested  in  your  fate,  and  who 
asserts,  under  the  impression  cf  eoaae  secret 
atd  important  knowledge,  that  her  destiny  ia 
interwoven  with  yours.  It  is  to  represent  he^ 
that  I  am  tere.  I  have  no  claim,  merely  on 
account  of  my  interest  in  3  our  future  and  mv 


HAGAR  LOT; 


sympathy  with  your  past  lifo  aad  present  po- 
sition, to  appear  before  yon,  to  intrude  npon 
your  privacy,  even  to  address  you ;  but  as  the 
Delegate  of  "another  person  who  has  a  claim 
upon  you,  because  she  ia  acquainted  with  an 
important  eecret  which  will  enable  you  to  as- 
sert momentous  rights,  I  am  justly  here  to 
speak  wiihyou,  and  to  endeavor  to  obtain  from 
you  an  appointment  with  La3y  Brackleigh, 
which,  whatever  may  be  its  results  to  her 
lady  a  hip,  caanot  fail  to  be  to  your  advan- 
tage." 

He  paused,  and  remained  silent,  with  the 
evident  object  of  obtaining  from  her  a  reply 
to  his  request,  which  he  had  rather  intimated 
than  put. 

She  had  been  making  some  strong  efforts  at 
composure  while  he  had  been  speaking,  and 
eo  far  succeeded,  that  she  was  enabled  to  re- 
move her  hand  from  before  her  eyes,  and  to 
look  steadfastly  at  him. 

As  he  gazed  upon  her  colorless  face,  he  was 
struck  more  than  ever,  not  only  by  the  exceed- 
ing beauty  of  her  countenance,  but  by  the  sin- 
gular delicacy  and  refinement  of  her  Features. 
Constant  exposure  to  the  air,  a  long  period  of 
privation,  trouble,  and  anxiety  had  failed  to 
rob  her  exquisitely  fair  skin  of  i^s  transparen-. 
cy,  or  her  features  of  their  classic  delicacy  of 
form.  Lord  Victor  saw  in  them  a  type  of  his 
own  high-bred  class,  and  though  he  had 
enough  romance  in  his  composition  to  urge 
him  to  the  commission  of  act?  at  which  the 
worldly- mifided  would  sneer,  he  had  enough 
plain  matter-of-fact  sense  to  know  that  Floret 
was  descended  from  no  common  origin,  and  to 
see  that  attrition  with  the  world  had  purified 
rather  than  contaminated  her. 

"Whatever  might  have  been  the  real  nature 
of  his  feelings  toward  her  previous  to  this  in- 
terview, that  one  glance  at  her  fair,  sad  face 
-did  more  to  fix  her  indelibly  up«n  his  hear; 
4h*a  aught  which  haJ  ever  happened  before. 

Floret  did  not  interpret  the  expression  that 
was  slowly  passing  over  hie  features  as  he  pe- 
rused hers ;  her  mind  was  too  intent  upon  a 
resolution  to  decline  the  request  he  had  put  to 
her,  and  how  to  express  it  without  fastening 
too  much  humiliation  on  herself. 

"  I  am  at  a  lost  to  imagine  how  the  destiny 
of  the  lady  whom  you  have  named  can  be 
mixed  up  with  mine,  'she  said,  slowly  andeor- 
rowfully  ;  '•  I  hope  for  her  s»ke  that  it  is  not. 
I  know  now — I  have  but  recently  been  put  in 
possession  of  it — as  much  of  my  history  as  it 
is  needful  for  me  to  know ;  it  is  enough  to 
make  me  certain  that  no  change  for  the  better 
can  take  place  in  my  position,  and  that  any  ef- 
fort to  learn  more  than  I  know  now  will  re- 
sult in  further  pain  to  mjself,  without  improv- 
ing my  situation  one  iota.  My  lot  hencefor- 
ward must  be  lonely  obscurity  on — on  te  the 
end.  Wih  the  world  I  have  nothing  more  in 
«o  mm  on,  save  to  wring  from  it  the  means  of 
sustaining  life,  nothing  more.  Of  it  I  have 
nothing  to  ask  but  forgetfulness.  For  what 
you  have  done  to  serve  me,  my  Lord,  I  thank 
you  gratefn&y,  for  your  good  intentions  I  am 


likewise  most  grateful ;  and  bare,  in  mercy,  let 
our  interview  end.  You  will  pity  and  under- 
stand, and  obey  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
am  nameless,  and  that  I  must  remain  so  to  the 
end." 

She  sank  half  fainting  upon  a  chair  as  she 
concluded. 

He  bent  over  her,  and  in  a  low  tone,  and 
with  deep  emotion,  said  : 

"  That  crime  ia  not  yours.  I  were  unworthy 
the  name  I  inherit,  the  form  I  bear— the  like- 
nees  of  Gol  himself,  whooe  attribute  is  justice 
as  well  as  mercj — if  I  did  not  find  in  your  reve- 
lation a  deeper  and  a  holier  claim  to  my  serv- 
ice than  before.  I  can  measure  the  magnitude 
of  your  anguish  when  you  reflect  on  such  a 
condition  as  yon  mention  being  yours.  If  sym- 
pathy would  reach  that  grief,  I  would  deeply 
sympathize  with  you,  but  it  would  be  ineffec- 
tual. You  are  of  no  common  origin,  that  is 
palpable  to  me  ;  that  you  should  feel  such  a 
stigma  with  more  acute  agony  than  some  BO 
unfortunately  situated  who  have  smaller  claim 
to  look  for  sr,ern  integrity  in  those  who  preced- 
ed them,  I  can  understand  ;  but  what  I  cannot 
understand  is,  that  you  should  assume  that  you 
are  what  you  have  stated  yourself  to  be, 'un- 
less you  possess  information  that  is  wholly  in- 
disputable, which  forbids  you  entertaining 
hope/' 

"  I  believe  that  I  do,"  she  said,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  tone. 

"  Documentary  evidence  T'  suggested  Lord 
Victor,  emphatically. 

"  No,  I  have  nothing  of  that  kind,"  she  re- 
plied, plaintively,  "but — " 

"I  have  documentary  evidence  to  prove 
that  you  are  not  nameless !"  exclaimed  a  voice, 
clearly  and  impressively. 

Floret  raised  her  eyes,  and  Lord  Victor 
turned  hastily  round. 

In  the  doorwav  stood  the  Countess  of  Brack- 
leigh! 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  And  suddenly  her  former  eolor  changed*          .._ 
And  here  ana  there  her  eyes  through  anger  ranges; 
And,  like  a  planet  moving  several  ways, 
At  oce  self  instant,  she,  poor  soul !  assays 
Loving,  not  to  lore  at  all,  and  every  part 
Strove  to  resist  the  motions  ef  her  heart : 
And  bauds  so  pure,  eo  innocent,  nay,  such  „»-.- 

As  might  have  made  Heaven  stoop  to  have  &  touch, 
Did  she  uphold."  —  MABLOWB. 

The  apparition  of  the  Countess  of  Brack- 
leigh  in  the  doorway  appeared  to  startle  Lord 
Victor  Trentham  as  much  as  it  did  Floret,  and 
to  surprise  and  confound  him  even  more  than 
it  did  her. 

The  Countess  observed,  with  a  furtive  glamee, 
his  unequivocal  and  anything  but  gratified  look 
of  amazement,  and  the  expression  of  alarm  and 
distress  which  appeared  suddenly  upon  Flor- 
et's features. 

With  the  quickness  of  thought,  the  Countess 
entered  the  room,  closed  the  door,  locked  it, 
and  took  possession  of  the  key,  which  she  at 
once  placed  ia  a  pocket  in  her  dress. 

Lord  Victor's  astonishment  visibly  increased 
—he  was  evidently  annoyed  and  angry. 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


97 


"  Lady  Brackleigh,"  he  said,  in  a  grave  tone, 
*<  I  certainly  did  not  anticipate  that  you  would 
follow  me  here  ;  much  less  could  I  have  im- 
agined that  you  would  take  euch  a  strange  pro- 
ceeding as — " 

1    The  Countess  wared  her  hand  impatiently, 
and,  interrupting  him,  said  : 

"  You  know  not,  Lord  Victor,  what  vital  in 
terests  are  at  stake.  You  may  have,  I  ac- 
knowledge, a  suspicion  of  some  part  of  the 
truth  ;  but  you  cannot  have  the  slightest  con- 
ception of  the  real  and  terrible  facts  involved 
in  the  affair  in  which  I  am  now  taking  so  ac- 
tive ft  participation,  or  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  result  to  all  the  parties  concerned  in  it. 
To  me  the  issue  will  be  of  the  gravest  charac- 
ter, and  I  am,  therefore,  compelled  to  take 
step?  which,  though  they  may  appear  ques- 
tionable in  your  eyes,  as  in  the  eyes  of  others, 
are,  nevertheless,  in  my  position,  justifiable. 
Believe  me,  Lord  Victor,  I  have  been  most 
deeply  wronged.  I  cannot  yet  explain  to  you 
how.  It  must,  for  the  present,  suffice  that  I 
can  imagine  no  greater  personal  injury  than 
that  which  I  have  received,  and  I  believe  it  to 
be  irreparable.  The  denouement  of  a  mystery, 
in  which  I  have  for  a  dreary  period  been  en- 
ihrouded,  cannot  long  be  deferred.  I  do  not, 
I  cannot  expect  to  be,  in  a  merely  worldly 
point  of  view,  benefited  by  it.  Socially,  per- 
haps, I  shall  be  lowered  and  pitied — I  hate  to 
be  pitied  ;  but,  Lord  Victor,  I  shall  eecure  a 
terrible  atonement  for  a  monstrous  act  of 
treachery,  the  victims  of  which  have  been  my- 
self and  this  poor  girl,"  she  concluded,  point- 
ing to  Floret. 

"  I  cannot  for  a  moment  doubt  a  word  that 
your  ladyship  has  uttered,"  rejoined  Lord 
Victor,  as  she  ceased,  preserving  still  his  grave 
tone  and  manner ;  "  but  you  will  remember 
that  when'I  undertook  your  mission  hither,  it 
was  with  the  understanding  that  I  should  exe- 
cute it  entirely  after  my  own  discretion;  that 
Floret — she  will  pardon  my  familiar  use  of  her 
name— should  neither  be  startled,  worried,  co- 
erced into  taking  any  course  which  might  be 
opposed  to  her  inclination ;  that  she  should  be 
free  to  act  as  she  might  wish,  and  that,  should 
she  desire  to  remain  in  undisturbed  and  se- 
cluded retirement,  an  unqualified  deference 
should  be  paid  to  her  resolve  As  I  was  to  be 
the  medium  through  whom  you  preferred  your 
proposition,  so  it  was  arranged  I  was  to  be  the 
Dearer  to  you  of  Floret's  decision." 

"  I  admit,  Lord  Victor,  that  I  consented  to 
the  arrangement,"  returned  Lady  Braekleigh, 
quickly  ;  "  but  it  was  because  I  had  no  alter- 
native. You  told  me  that  you  had  discovered 
the  residence  of  the  young  girl  who  had  been 
kidnapped  from  those  to  whose  charge  I  had 
intrueted  her  at  Eeigate;  but  you  declined  to 
tell  m^  where  that  residence  was  to  be  found 
You,  Lord  Victor,  certainly  offered  to  bear 
from  me  a  communication  to  the  young,  sad- 
ly u::ed  fcirl;  but  you  fashioned  it  yourself. 
You  objected  to  this ;  you  declined  to  repeat 
th<it ;  you,  in  short,  placed  yourself  in  my  po- 
•ition,  and  decided  to  say  what  you  deemed  to 


be  moat  proper— not  what  my  judgment  told 
me  was  essential.  I  bowed  to  you  ;  I  permit- 
ted you  to  have  your  own  way,  because  I  fore- 
saw that  ii  was  the  only  way  to  obtain  mine. 
You  had  acquainted  me— thoughtlessly,  no 
doubt — with  the  hour  at  which  you  should 
seek  an  interview  with  this  young  girl.  1 
watched  you  from  your  house ;  I  followed  you ; 
I  am  here ;  I  have  overheard  your  conversa- 
tion ;  I  am  in  possession  of  this  poor  child's 
impression  respecting  her  parentage,  and  I  in- 
terfered at  the  moment  I  thought  to  be  the 
most  favorable  to  her  interests  and  to  my  own. 
It  is  necessary  to  dispel  from  her  mind  a  be- 
lief which,  if  she  is  permitted  to  cherish  it, 
will  paralyze  her  action.  It  is  essential  to  her 
fame,  name,  honor,  that  she  should  act ;  but 
she  cannot  do  it  as  you  have  found  her,  ag 
you  would  leave  her,  withi  a  crushing  horror 
upon,  her  brain — with  a  frozen  heart,  I  am 
here  to  remove  that  cloud  from  her  brow — to 
bring  back  warm  life-blood  to  her  heart— to 
tear  from  her  soul  that  taint  which  ehe  deems 
the  murkiest  that  can  soil  and  stain  her  fair 
fame — to  lift  her,  indeed,  from  the  sepulchre 
of  ruined  hopes  into  the  sunshine  of  a  bril- 
liant future.  To  accomplish  this — to  her,  in 
all  likelihood,  a  seemingly  impossible  feat — I 
must  have  an  interview  with  her  alone.  1 
must  beg  this  of  your  courtesy,  my  lord,  and 
of  our  yoncg  friend's  good  sense." 

L'idy  Brackleigh  paused  for  an  answer,  for, 
somewhat  bewildered  by  her  observations,  he 
remained  silent  when  she  ceased  speaking. 
Presently,  however,  he  said  : 

"  In  describing  the  part  1  have  taken,  Lady 
Brackleigh,  you  have  act  exaggerated  the 
truth.  I,  however,  adopted  the  course  I  pur- 
sued from  a  conviction  that,  if  women  in  eomt 
transactions  of  their  lives  consider  conse- 
quences, they  never  do  in  revenge.  You  hare 
declared  yourself  to  be  greatly  wronged  ?" 

"Most  foully;  most  atrociously,"  she  re- 
sponded, emphatically. 

'•  And  you  are  striving  after  revenge  ?"  he 
s\ibj  <->ined. 

"I  admit  it,"  she  answered,  with  excite- 
ment ;  "  an  ample,  full,  complete  revenge," 

"Lady  Brackleigh,"  he  returned,  quickly 
and  impressively,  as  he  pointed  to  Floret; 
"  surely  this  young  lady  has  endured  enough 
of  trial  and  vicissitude,  difficulty,  danger,  and 
misery,  to  save  her  from  being  subjected  even 
to  the  chance  of  farther  suffering.  In  striving 
after  your  own  aims,  Lady  Brackleigh,  you 
should  remember — " 

"  That  I  shall  have  a  companion  who  has 
been  as  deeply  wronged,  and  who  has  suffered 
even  more  than  myself,"  she  abruptly  inter- 
posed "  I  shall  noc  forget  it  I  am  not  likely 
to  forget  it.  She  has  no  need  to  fear  the  fu- 
ture. Even  if  she  does  incur  some  rebuffs, 
even  if  ehe  should  have  to  endure  further 
struggles,  her  reward  must  come ;  mine  can 
only  be  to  bury  myself  in  seclusion  from  that 
world  into  which  she  will  enter  a  bright  star, 
the  object  of  wonder  and  of  admiration.  A 
world  wJtiich,  while  it  showers  upon  her  happi- 


98 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


ness,  will  consign  me  to  pining  oblivion.  You 
have  no  occasion  to  be  under  any  alarm  for  Flor- 
et, Lord  Victor ;  as  I  can  achieve  nothing  with- 
out her,  so  must  I,  even  if  I  had  not  the  in- 
clination, be  as  tender  of  her  as  though  she 
were  some  near  and  dear  connection  of  my 
own,  with  whom  my  existence  was  bound  up, 
whose  death  would  be  fatal  to  every  hope  of 
future  peace  nourished  in  my  breast." 

"  "Why  take,  then,  the  extraordinary  step, 
Lady  Brackleigh,  on  entering  the  room,  of 
closing  the  door  behind  you,  locking  it,  and 
securing  the  key?"  asked  Lord  Victor,  who 
seemed  not  to  be  satisfied  with  Lady  Brack- 
leigh's  explanation. 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  my  Lord,"  re- 
turned the  Countess,  readily.  "  From  what 
fell  from  the  lips  of  this  young,  persecuted 
creature  here,  I  gathered  that  she  was  weary 
of  discussions  upon  her  origin — nay,  that  she 
shrank  from  them  with  aversion,  with  loath- 
ing, and  with  a  painful  sense  of  humiliation. 
I  suspected  that  as  soon  as  her  eyes  fell  upon 
me  she  would  fly  me.  Not  from  fear  of  me, 
nor  from  hatred,  but  having  formed  a  convic- 
tion, which  I  shall  prove  to  her  to  be  errone- 
ous,  she  would  naturally  be  averse  to  reopen  a 
subject,  the  only  seeming  result  of  which  would 
be  to  add  anguish  to  the  affliction  she  has  al- 
ready been  compelled  to  endure,  and  would, 
therefore,  take  the  readiest  way  of  preventing 
it  by  avoiding  me.  To  insure  her  attention  to 
what  I  have  to  communicate  to  her,  I  have 
locked  the  door,  and  I  hold  the  key.  I  assure 
her  before  you,  my  Lord,  that  what  I  shall  re- 
veal to  her  will  not  add  to  her  anguish,  but 
that  it  will  dissipate  it — that  if  happiness  can 
be  brought  to  a  heart  which,  perhaps,  hitherto 
has  never  known  it,  I  shall  place  it  there ;  and 
I  now  ask  of  her  to  grant  me  a  private  inter- 
view at  once,  and  I  pledge  to  her  my  faith — 
the  faith  of  one  who  has  never  violated  her 
word — that,  if  at  the  close  of  the  interview 
which  I  now  solicit  she  determines  to  continue 
the  course  which,  prior  to  seeing  me  to-day, 
she  has  marked  out  for  herself  to  pursue,  I 
will  no  further  interfere  with  her,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  do  what  lies  in  my  power  to  aid  her 
in  carrying  out  her  wishes." 

The  Countess  ceased  speaking ;  and  Lord 
Vbtor,  who  had  watched  her  countenance 
closely  during  her  speech,  turned  to  Floret  to 
hear  what  she  had  to  reply. 

The  poor  girl,  disturbed  and  distressed  by 
those  frequent  references  to  her  birth  and  her 
condition  before  Lord  Victor,  and  even  by 
him,  sat  with  her  face  covered  with  her  hands. 
Her  skin  was  whiter  than  snow ;  there  might 
have  been,  now  and  then,  a  crimson  flushing, 
but  at  no  time  did  it  last  more  than  a  second. 
Her  pride  was  sorely  tried.  Under  most  cir- 
cumstances she  would  have  felt  much  at  such 
a  discussion,  but,  before  Lord  Victor,  it  was 
painfully  humiliating. 

It  was  her  secret  and  dearest  wish — a  dream, 
a  passionate  day-dream — U  shine  in  his  eyes 
"one  entire  and  perfect  crysolite".  It  had 
been  her  fate  to  be  seen  and  known  by  him  aa 


a  poor  girl— always  a  poor  girl ;  and  now  she 
had  to  bear  the  humiliation  of  appearing  be- 
fore  him — of  even  acknowledging  to  him  that 
she  was  of  a  tainted  origin. 

She  could  not  but  believe  that  these  discov- 
eries by  him  would  be  subversive  of  all  in- 
terest he  might  ever  have  felt  in  her  fate,  and 
that,  when  he  that  day  parted  from  her,  it 
would  be  not  only  for  ever,  but  to  forget,  &a 
soon  as  she  was  shut  from  his  eyes,  that  she 
had  ever  lived. 

She  was  unacquainted  with  the  nature  of  a 
true  man;  certainly  with  euch  a  nature  aa 
that  possessed  by  Lord  Victor.  He  had  been 
struck  by  her  singular  beauty  when  he  had 
met  her  in  the  wood,  and  when  she,  in  grati 
tude  for  his  timely  interference  in  her  behatf, 
presented  to  him  the  bouquet  she  had  ar- 
ranged. How  much,  indeed,  Mrs.  Spencer'a 
anecdote  had  revealed !  His  admiration  of  her 
charms  had  been  heightened  when  he  saw  her 
in  her  blue  cotton  frock  and  tawdry  wreath  at 
Ascot ;  and  it  was  yet  farther  increased  when 
he  encountered  her,  neatly  dressed,  near  to 
Hyde  Park,  and  he  first  introduced  her  to  the 
notice  of  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh. 

The  circumstances  under  which  they  had 
met  had  also  greatly  interested  him,  and  many 
times  when  at  college,  especially  when  alone 
at  night  with  his  thoughts,  her  sweet,  fair  face 
would  recur  to  him,  her  softly-beaming,  deep 
blue  eyes  would  shine  upon  him,  and  he 
would  note  the  silent  eloquence  in  them, 
which  was  more  powerful  than  any  words  she 
might  have  used,  as  she  tendered  him  again, 
in  imagination,  her  simple  offering.  He 
would  remember,  too,  with  a  species  of  mar- 
veling wonder,  the  scornful  expression  of  re- 
sentment which  appeared  upon  her  still 
young  and  beautiful  face,  when,  by  the  side  of 
Lady  Brackleigh's  carriage,  she  reminded  him 
that  he  had  given  her  money,  and  treated  her 
as — a  beggar  I  when  he  could  only  know  her 
as  such,  and  nothing  else.  He  remembered 
her  far  more  frequently  than  she,  even  in  her 
most  hopeful  and  dreamy  moments,  could 
have  believed  possible  ;  and  he  did  so  with- . 
out  asking  himself  what  was  the  nature  of  that 
influence  which  could  so  often  bring  her  ex-  -. 
quisitely-formed  features  before  Ms  admiring 
vision.  * 

Certainly,  when  he  encountered  her  in  the 
wood,  in  the  hands  of  the  gipsies,  her  in- 
creased height  and  age  had  the  effect  of  aseur-. 
ing  him  that  the  bud  had  given  no  promise 
the  blossom  would  not  realize.  She  was  thin 
and  delicate  in  appearance,  and  was  clothed: 
in  faded  habiliments  ;  but  she  was  still  most 
beautiful  in  countenance,  and  queenly  in  her, 
bearing,  and  her  voice,  though  plaintive  in 
tone,  was  as  melodious  as  it  had  ever  been. 

He  thought  of  her  yet  more  frequently  afterj 
that  event;  and  now  that  he  beheld  her, 
neatly  and  tastefully  attired,  and  though  sad 
in  countenance,  still  greatly  improved  in  her] 
healthful  appearance,  the  interest  he  hadj 
taken  in  her  all  along  was  not  likely  to 
diminish. 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIEL. 


No— not  likely  to  diminish,  after  he  had 
witnessed  her  bitter  tears,  and  listened  to  her 
passionate  sobbing,  observed  her  deep  dis- 
tress, and  felt  his  whole  soul  moved  to  pity  for 
her— that  pity  which  is  not  derogatory  to  the 
object,  but  which  is  the  sentiment  nearest 
allied  to  love. 

No  ;  Floret  had  small  occasion  to  fear  that 
she  would  be  forsaken  and  forgotten  to  Lord 
Victor.  Hers  was  not  the  position  in  the 
heart  of  a  true  man  which  was  calculated  to 
make  hjm  careless  whether  he  ever  saw  her 
more,  or  which  would  cause  him  to  forget  her 
as  if  she  had  never  been. 

Lord  Victor,  while  the  Countess  was  ad- 
dressing him,  regarded  Floret  with  tender  in- 
terest, and,  bending  over  her,  said,  in  a  gentle 
tone,  yet  one  which  was  so  modulated  as  to  in- 
duce her  to  have  confidence  in  him  : 

"  You  have  heard  what  the  Countess  has 
said,  Floret;  you  have  heard  her  express  a 
wish  to  be  closeted  with  you  alone.  Are  you 
prepared  to  accede  to  it  ?  or  do  you  desire  to 
decline  the  proposition  ?  Speak  freely  and 
frankly — believe  me,  your  wishes  will  be  re- 
spected." 

He  laid  so  peculiar  an  emphasis  upon  the 
last  three  words,  that  Floret  was  fain  to  look 
up  gratefully  to  him. 

She  rose  up  from  the  chair  upon  which  she 
had  been  seated,  and,  addressing  him,  said  : 

"  My  lord,  I  thank  you  deeply  for  the  in- 
terest you  evince  in  my  unhappy  condition, 
and  for  the  kind  consideration  you  have 
shown  for  my  feelings — feelings  which  have 
been  so  often  and  so  acutely  lacerated.  I  had 
hoped,  by  burying  myself  in  obscurity,  to  end 
all  the  woes  and  suffering  which  have  attended 
me  from  my  birth,  until  my  life  ended  a  term 
which  could  not,  to  meet  my  yearning  desire, 
be  too  brief;  but  it  is  not  to  be,  and  I  must 
yield  to  a  power  I  cannot  control.  My  grati- 
tude to  your  lordship  is  not  the  less  deep  be- 
cause you  have  not  accomplished  what  I  have 
earnestly  wished." 

p  She  bowed  low  to  him,  but  did  not  trust  her 
eyes  to  gaze  upon  his  face.  She  turned  them 
npon  the  Countess  : 

*  "  Your  ladyship  requests  mo  to  speak  with 
you  alone  1"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  undertone, 
which  trembled  slightly  in  its  intonation ; 
and  you  urge  me  to  assent,  by  suggestions 
which  can  hardly  fail  to  have  weight  with  me, 
although  I  fear  you.  are  deceiving  yourself 
twith  regard  to  the  result." 
I  "  Indeed,  Floret,  you  will  find  that  I  am 
not,"  interpolated  the  Countess,  with  emphasis, 
j  "  If  I  had  hope,  I  should  hope  that  you 
prognosticate  truly,"  she  continued ;  "  but  I 
have  lost  hope,  and  can  expect  no  gleam  of 
sunshine  in  my  dark  fate.  Nevertheless,  from 
the  intimations  which  you  have  given,  I  feel 
it  to  be  my  duty  to  listen  to  you.  I  am  eager 
to  know  all  that  I  can  learn  respecting  my  un- 
fortunate history.  I  do  not  think  any  addi- 
Jtional  particulars,  however  unpleasant  in 
|hernaelves,  can  add  to  my  burden  ;  and  there 
.may  be  some  that  may  tend,  at  ft  future  period, 


to  soften   reflections    which,  without  them, 
would  be  indescribably  bitter."  i 

"  Then  for  the  present  I  leare  yon,"  said 
Lord  Victor,  promptly  addressing  her,  as  she 
concluded ;  u  but  I  hope  to  see  you  again,  and 
that  ere  long — to  see  you,  Floret,  under 
brighter  auspices,  and  in  the  direct  road  to 
that  brilliant  happiness  which  Lady  Brack- 
leigh has  so  agreeably  foreshadowed." 

He  bowed  to  her,  and  she  bent  to  him ;  she 
did  not  raise  her  eyes— she  dared  not.  She 
thought,  perhaps,  that  he  might  tender  her 
his  hand;  she  felt  that  hers  would  tremble 
when  it  touched  his  ;  but  he  did  not  offer  it, 
and,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  she  stood  motion- 
less, with  her  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground. 

"Lady  Brackleigh,"  he  added,  "I  shall 
await  you  in  tha  apartment  of  Mrs.  Spencer, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  house,  in  order  that  I 
may  attend  your  ladyship  to  your  carriage." 

"  It  is  not  here,  Lord  Victor,"  she  replied  ; 
"but  I  shall  be  thankful  for  your  escort 
home."  ; 

"  I  shall  be  at  your  ladyship's  service,"  he 
rejoined ;  and,  so  saying,  he  quitted  the  room, 
leaving,  as  it  seemed  to  Floret,  a  dull  and 
heavy  gloom  behind  him. 

She  could  not  tell  whether  he  gazed  upon 
her  as  he  left.  She  heard  the  door  unlock  ; 
she  heard  it  closed  and  relocked.  She  heard 
the  sweep  of  a  silk  dress,  and  she  saw  its 
flounced  folds  trailing  the  floor  close  to  her 
o<7n !  but  she  saw  not  what  she  would  have 
given  a  world  to  see  as  it  departed  from  her — 
the  face  of  Lord  Victor.  Instead  of  it,  she 
saw  that  of  Lady  Brackleigh. 

She  started  as  she  now  gazed  steadfastly  at 
it.  She  had  not  forgotten  it,  although  she 
was  very  ill  when  she  first,  and  even  last,  be- 
held ic,  and  three  long  wearisome  years  had 
since  then  passed  away.  She  saw  a  terrible 
change  in  it.  It  was  pale,  thin,  and  furrowed 
— care  of  the  most  desolating  kind  was  stamp*. 
ed  upon  it.  In  the  set  of  the  brows,  the  eye- 
lids, the  corners  of  the  mouth,  there  was  only 
grief.  Not  a  trace  of  a  smile  lurking  there 
could  be  detected,  and  it  seemed  that  nothing 
imaginable  ceuld  bring  it  out  of  there. 

Floret  perceived  that  she  was  not  alone  a 
sufferer,  and  that  high  station  afforded  no  ex- 
emption from  human  misery. 

The  alteration  in  Lady  Brackleigh's  face, 
and  the  attendant  reflection,  made  her  more 
disposed  to  listen  needfully  and  with  interest 
to  what  she  had  to  say.  It  was  apparent  that 
in  some  way  the  Countess's  history  was  mix- 
ed up  with  her  own,  and  that  she  had,  as 
all  other  persons  had  who  bad  been  in  any 
way  connected  with  her,  suffered  deeply  in 
consequence. 

The  Countess,  however,  gave  her  no  time  to 
ruminate.  She  caught  her  by  the  wrist,  and, 
with  flashing  eyes,  said — 

"  Floret,  you  have  admitted  that  you  are 
acquainted  with  the  particulars  of  your  origin. 
What  are  they  ?  Kepeat  them  to  me." 

Floret  for  an  instant  was  startled  and.  sur- 
prised. By  a  sudden  movement  she  wrested 


100 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


her  hand  from  the  clutch  of  the  Countefw  and 
said,  almost  haughtily : 

"  This  is  an  abrupt  request  for  which  your 
ladyship  has  not  prepared  me.  It  surely  can- 
not be  the  single  objoct  of  your  ladyship  in 
effecting  this  interview  to  seek  from  me  a  reve- 
lation which  it  is  my  first  wish  to  keep  con- 
oealed  within  the  depths  of  my  own  bosom. 
If  this  be  not  the  sole  purpose  of  your  lady- 
ship's presence  here,  I  request  you  to  submit 
to  me  such  other  motives  as  may  have  induc- 
ed you  to  visit  me ;  but  if  it  be  your  only  rea- 
son, I  must  beg  of  your  ladyship  to  spare  me 
the  pain  of  replying  to  it." 

**  Girl,  you  know  not  what  I  have  suffered — 
what  I  do  suffer,"  exclaimed  the  Countess, 
wildly;  "you  know  but  a  tithe  of  the  truth  at 
which  you  would  arrive— at  which  you  must 
arrive,  or  perish  a  namele:s  creature.  I  must 
conquer  all  the  truth,  not  to  win  a  brighter 
name  and  unalloyed  happiness,  but  to  end  a 
torture  which  is  rapidly  slaying  me,  and  win — 
a  convent  and  a  grave." 

She  paused,  and  wept  passionately. 

Then  flinging  back  her  head,  and  dashing 
away  with  an  impatient  hand  her  tears,  she 
Continued— 

"  Has  it  not  occurred  to  you,  that  I  have  a 
story  to  reveal  to  you  ?  Have  the  questions 
not  presented  themselves  to  you — '  Why  does 
ehe  seek  me  ?  What  can  my  unhappy  history 
be  to  her?  Can  I  be  connected  with  her  un- 
happiness  ? — if  so,  how,  in  what  manner,  and 
under  what  circumstances  ?  Can  the  relatives 
to  whom  I  am  allied  be  connected  with  her  ? 
In  what  relation  can  she  stand  to  be,  and  I  to 
her?" 

Floret  interrupted  her  vith  a  sudden  coarse 
Bcream.  She  placed  both  hands  upon  her 
heart,  and  recoiled  half  a  dozen  steps :  her 
face  became  a  ghastly  white,  and  her  lips  livid. 
She  looked  as  if  she  would  fall  lifeless  upon 
the  ground. 

The  Countess,  excitei  as  she  was,  perceived 
Floret's  sudden  and  terrible  agitation  with 
amazement,  and  then  a  thought  flashed 
through  her  mind,  and  a  strange,  vindictive 
emile  for  a  moment  moved  her  lips. 

She  advanced  to  Floret,  and  said,  as  she 
raised  her  hand  with  a  deprecating  gesture  : 

"Calm  your  agitation.  I  am  not  she  for 
whom  you  take  me.  Your  filial  instinct  is  in 
error  if  it  turned  even  for  an  instant  to  me. 
My  words  have  misled  you.  No,  when  you 
seek  for  your  mother,  look  first  in  your  glass, 
peruse  well  the  features  which  will  be  there 
presented  to  you,  examine  them  well,  scrutinize 
each  feature,  fasten  them  upon  your  memory, 
and  when  you  go  in  search  of  the  woman  who 
bore  you,  and  find  a  face  which  closely  resem- 
bles that  which  you  have  studied  in  the  glass, 
you  may  say  to  yourself,  *  I  have  found  her.' 
Then  fling  your  arms  fondly  about  her  neck, 
and  rent  your  head  upon  her  bosom— if  you 
can !"  Floret  sighed  deeply,  and  turned  her 
head  away. 

"  It  had  been  better  I  had  never  been  born," 
ehe  exclaimed,  bitterly. 


"  Better  that  she  who  bore  you  had  died  ere 
she  gave  you  birth,"  cried  the  Countess, stern- 
ly. '•  I,  at  least,  should  have  been  spared  a 
broken  heart." 

The  frown  which  rested  on  her  brow,  when 
she  uttered  those  words,  passed  away  as  her 
eye  fell  upon  Floret's  face  ;  it  was  so  wobegone 
and  despairing  that  it  made  her  heart  ache  to 
look  upon  it. 

She  sighed,  too,  and  then  said  : 

"  Floret,  child,  it  will  not  do  for  you  and 
me  to  act  otherwise  than  in  concert ;  we  have 
both  an  aim  to  achieve,  which  can  scarcely  be 
accomplished  unless  we  act  in  unison.  I  shall 
have  no  reserve  with  you ;  you  must  have 
none  with  me.  We  are  traveling  to  the  same 
end :  we  must  do  it  with  one  mind,  one  intel- 
ligence, and  without  concealments.  I,  who 
know  your  history — or,  at  least,  have  become 
mistress  of  much  of  it — marvel  how  you  could 
have  learned  it.  The  source  from  whence  you 
have  derived  your  information  is  unknown  to 
me,  therefore  I  desire  to  learn  how  much  has 
been  communicated  to  you,  and  wno  was  your 
informant.  My  motive  is  this.  I  shall  hear 
how  much  of  the  truth  has  been  told  to  you, 
how  much  kept  back.  I  shall  hear  who  reveal- 
ed to  you  your  history,  and  shall  be  able  to 
judge  the  motive  with  which  it  has  been  im- 
parted to  you.  Speak,  Floret,  openly  and 
truthfully,  for  I  again  repeat  I  shall  be  able  to 
disabuse  your  mind  of  a  grievous  error  which 
it  is  nursing,  and  place  hope  back  in  the  seat 
from  whence  you  believe  that  it  has  departed 
for  ever." 

Floret  gazed  at  her  wistfully,  earnestly,  and 
with  an  expression  of  distress  on  her  counte- 
nance. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  ehe  murmured,  with 
painful  embarrassment.  "  This  perplexity  is 
new  to  me.  I  am  rarely  in  doubt  as  to  the 
course  I  should  pursue,  yet  I  know  not  what 
..o  do.  To  refuse  to  take  part  with  you  seems 
to  be  the  ringing  of  the  death-knell  to  my 
dearest  hopes.  Yet  if  I  league  with  you  I 
shall  be  conspiring  against  those  whom  nature 
tells  me  I  ought  to  uphold  and  defend." 

"  Nature  sometimes  eets  us  strange  tasks," 
responded  Lady  Brac^leigh.  "It  is  not  al- 
ways wise  or  prudent  to  follow  her  teachings. 
However,  let  me  relieve  your  mind  of  a  fear 
that  I  shall  desire  you  to  conspire  or  scheme 
against  any  one,  even  those  who  have  most  in- 
uoed  you,  I  shall  require  nothing  of  the  kind. 
I  wish  you  only  to  help  me  to  establish  your 
claim  to  an  honorable  name,  though  worn  by 
a—.  Well,  it  will  not  become  me  to  call 
names,  I  must  prove  them.  A  coronet  may 
sit  upon  a  smirched  brow,  I  leave  the  world 
to  lurriieh  the  proper  epithets.  Do  you  un- 
derstand me  better  now,  Floret  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do,"  she  replied,  musingly,  "and 
will  answer  to  your  first  question.  My  knowl- 
edge of  my  origin  may  be  comprised  in  a  few 
words.  I  have  been  told  that  I  am  the  off- 
spring of  shame—  of  one  who  loved  fondly, 
and  trusted  too  confidingly  to  a  heartless  man* 
That  my  mother  was  high  born,  but  not  there- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


101 


foro  exempt  from  the  evils  of  temptation  which 
surround  the  humbler  members  ol  her  sex. 
As  I  was  brought  into  the  world  in  secret,  so 
I  was  immediately  sent  inte  obscurity,  was 
yeared  first  in  a  Tillage,  and  was  afterward 
kidnapped  by  gipsies.  I  have  lived  since 
then  a  life  of  strange  vicissitudes,  with  come 
of  which  you  have  been  acquainted.  That  is 
my  whole  history !" 

'The  Countess  listened  to  her  attentively, 
and  gazed  fixedly  at  her  for  a  minute  after  she 
censed  speaking. 

At  length  she  said,  slowly  : 

"And  that  is  all?" 

Floret  bowed  her  head  in  silent  assent. 

"  Who  communicated  to  you  this  story  ?" 
inquired  the  countess. 

41  flsgar  Lot !"  replied  Floret. 

"Who?"  ejaculated  the  Countess,  with  sur- 
prise. 

Floret  repeated  the  name  briefly. 

"Who  is  ehe?"  aeked  the  Countess,  quickly. 

"  A  gipey !"  returned  Floret.  "  She  it  was 
who  took  me  from  Beachborough,  and  placed 
me  with  the  old  gipsy  who  made  me  sell  flow- 
ers for  a  living.  It  was  ehe  who  removed  me 
from  him,  and  placed  me  at  a  school  in  York- 
shire ;  and  who,  in  short,  acknowledged  to  me 
that  she  was  an  agent  of — of  my — " 

The  word  seemed  to  choke  her  in  its  way  to 
utterance,  and  she  turned  her  face  aside,  leav- 
ing the  word  unsaid. 

"I  understand  you," observed  the  Countess, 
thoughtfully.    "  The  woman  was  the  agent  of 
your  mother.    Yet  this  is  strange— I  was  in 
formed  that  her  name  was  Shelley,  and  that 
she  was  found—" 

Floret  raised  her  hands  deprecatingly. 

"Do not  speak  of  her,"  she  said,  hurriedly 
and  excitedly.  "  Her  death  rests  like  a  burden 
upon  my  shoulders,  although  I  was  innocent 
of  it — yet,  had  I  not  been  born,  she  would 
have  been  living  now.  She  was  my  first  nurse ; 
it  was  Hagar  Lot  who  stole  me  from  the  care 
of  those  to  whom  she  left  me  a  miserable  leg- 
acy." 

"  This  is  something  new,"  muttered  the 
Countess  ;  "  I  muat  see  this  gipsy." 

Then  raising  her  voice,  she  inquired : 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  find  her,  Floret?" 

Floret  shuddered  slightly,  and  repl  ed : 

"  I  do  not.  I  do  not  wish  to  know.  She 
gave  me  the  opportunity  of  commumcating 
with  her,  but  I  refused  her  offer  with  seorn 
and  loathing." 

"  I  can  believe  you,"  replied  the  Countess. 
41  Yet  it  will  be  essential  to  me  to  discover  her, 
and  I  will," 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  the  she  ob- 
served, almost  abruptly : 

"  Did  she  communicate  to  you  the  name  of 
your  mother?" 

Floret  gasped  for  breath. 

She  made,  however,  aii  effort,  and  control- 
ing  her  emotion,  replied : 

•*  I  requested  her  to  reveal  it  to  me,  but  she 
declined." 

"  Why !»  asked  the  Countwe. 


"  She  expressed  a  fear  that  I  desired  to 
know  it  in  order  that  I  might  curse  her,"  re- 
turned Floret,  with  a  sudden  flush  upon  her 
forehead  ;  "  but—"  ; 

"She  measured  your  nature  by  her  own, 
doubtless,"  interposed  the  Countess.  "Pray, 
did  she  betray  the  same  relectance  to  mention 
the  name  of  your— father,  Floret?" 

Floret  let  fall  her  eyelids.  This  cross-exam* 
ination  was  very  painful  to  her,  but  she  made 
an  effort,  and  answered,  excitedly : 

"  I  declined  to  hear  it.  Lady  Brackleigh, 
what  to  me  was  his  name,  or  the  name  of  the 
mother  who  bore  me?  They  had  fastened 
upon  me  an  inheritance  of  shame,  and  doomed 
me  to  a  life  of  obscurity.  It  would  surely  be- 
better  that  I  should  not  know  a  name,  to  hear 
which  would  pierce  my  heart  eac'o.  time  it  waa 
mentioned — a  name  which  I  should  never  bear, 
or  bearing,  loathe.  No,  Lady  Brackleigb,  I 
revealed  to  you  all  that  I  knew  in  the  first  few 
sentences  which  I  uttered  resDecting  my  life, 
and  I  have  no  more  to  tell.  You  only  need* 
lessly  and  profitlcssly  probe  my  heart,  when 
you  desire  to  extract  that  which  I  do  not 
possess,  and  cannot,  therefore,  communicate." 

"  I  will  not  at  present  press  you  further," 
said  the  Countess ;  "  but  I  will  proceed  to 
place  your  history  in  a  new  light.    You  are 
the    daughter    of  a   Marchioness!"  she   ex 
claimed,  with  an  abrupt  emphasis. 

A  painful  expression,  but  not  one  of  BU? 
prise,  crossed  Floret's  features. 

"  Hagar  Lot  told  me  so,"  she  said. 

11  And  that  your  father  was  an  Earl  ?"  added 
the  Countess,  with  a  strange,  low,  hoarso 
screech. 

Floret  looked  at  her  with  wonder. 

"  She  did,"  she  replied. 

The  Countess  gaped  twice  or  thrice. 

"  This  confirms  it !"  she  exclaimed  ;  and, 
clasping  her  hands  to  her  temples,  she  sank 
upon  a  chair.  / 

Floret  approached  her,  but  she  waved  her 
impatiently  away. 

"  Do  not  come  near  me !"  ehe  exclaimed, 
agitatedly  ;  "  I  must  wrestle  with  this  spasm 
alone." 

She  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  benfc 
her  head  down  low.  She  rocked  her  body  to 
and  fro  for  a  minute  or  so,  evidently  in  ex- 
treme pain,  and  thea  rose  up  and  paced  the 
apartment  with  rapid  and  disordered  steps. 

Presently,  she  paused  abruptly,  and  said: 

"  The  woman — this  gipsy — this  agent  of 
whom  you  have  spoken,  did  not  communicate 
to  you  the  name  of  your  mother?"  , 

"  She  did  not,"  replied  Floret. 

"  Nor  of  him— your  father?"  she  continued, 
in  a  species  of  convulsive  emotion.  i 

"  She  did  not,"  repeated  Floret. 

"  She  only  said  that  your  mother  loved  and 
trusted,  and  that  your  father  was  a  scoundrel  I" 
pursued  the  Countess,  between  her  teeth. 

Floret  bowed  her  head  assentingly. 

"  She  lied !"  cried  the  Countess,  between  her 
teeth.  Floret  started,  and  gazed  upon  her  with 
eager  amazement 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


«•  She  lied  !'*  continuod  the  Countess,  speak- 
ing rapidly,  "knowingly,  or  because  even 
•he  *as  deceived  by  her  employer.  Your 
mother  might  have  been  an  artless  girl  at  the 
age  of  sixteen ;  but  she  was  not  so  weak  and 
guileless— not  so  trusting,  as  to  yield  herself 
up  to  the  man  she  loved,  until  he  had  first  ac- 
companied her  to  church,  and  placed,  before 
an  ordained  priest,  a  wedding-ring  upon  her 

Floret  clutched  at  the  Countess's  wrist  wild- 
ly, and  tried  two  or  three  times  to  speak,  but 
not  a  sound  came  from  her  parted,  ashen  lips. 

"  I  tell  TOU,  girl,  that  what  I  say  is  true,  and 
can  be  proved  ;  but  that  the  proofs  will  be  at- 
tended with  some  little  difficulty  I"  exclaimed 
the  Countess,  with  excitement.  "  But  it  shall 
be  done,  though  my  heart  be  crumbled  to  dust 
— it  shall  be  done !  You,  Floret,  are  the  off- 
spring of  a  secret  marriage.  You  are  legiti- 
mately borne,  and  you  may,  with  a  proud  ges- 
ture, now  dash  away  from  your  cheek  the 
blush  of  shame  which  has  only  too  frequently 
mantled  there/' 

Floret  pressed  her  temples  with  both  her 
hands.  The  apartment  seemed  to  reel  round 
her.  The  daughter  of  a  Marchioness— the 
daughter  of  an  Earl — and  legitimately  born— 
the  intelligence  appeared  to  be  too  good,  too 
overwhelmingly  blissful  to  be  true. 

Then  a  shade  passed  over  her  expressive 
features. 

"  Tell  me,  Lady  Brackleigh,  were  my  par- 
ents under  age  when  they  were  married  r"  she 
asked,  with  intense  eagerness. 

"  One  certainly  was :  the  Earl  was  probably 
a  minor,  also,"  the  Countess  replied,  inquiring 
also  why  she  put  the  question. 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Floret,  tremblingly, 
"  that  when  such  marriages  are  made  without 
the  consent  of  the  parents,  they  can  be  an- 
nulled. Is  it  so  ?" 

"If  proceedings  were  taken  while  the  mar- 
ried pair  were  minors,  it  might  be  done,  but 
not  without  extreme  difficulty,"  returned  the 
Countess  ;  "  but  nothing  of  the  sort  was  done 
in  this  case.  The  marriage  was  clandestine, 
and  has  been  kept  a  close  secret  ever  since." 

"Yet  you  have  discovered  it  ?"  said  Floret, 
in  an  inquiring  tone. 

"  I  have,"  rejoined  the  Countess,  with  bit- 
terness. "  It  was  fitting  that  I  should ;  it  con- 
cerned me  deeply.  Secrets  sneak  out  of  strange 
loopholes.  I  gained  my  infermation  by  sin- 
gular means ;  I  shall  work  out  my  long-cher- 
ished  aim  by  means  equally  strange,  yet  terri- 
bly sure." 

•'  As  I  have  heard  one  version  of  my  birth, 
and  you  have  furnished  me  with  another,  how 
shall  I  be  convinced  which  is  the  true  one  ?" 
observed  Floret,  with  a  thoughtful  and  some- 
what perplexed  air. 

"  Do  you  place  my  word  by  the  side  of  that 
of  a  gipsy,  and  hesitate  which  to  credit?" 
asked  the  Countess,  haughtily  and  reproach- 
fully. 

"  O  Lady  Brackleigh,  I  only  desire  to  be  ns- 
sured  that  your  version  is,  as  I  wish  it  to  be, 


the  correct  ono,"  said  Floret,  with  emotion. 
"  Hagar  Lot  was  the  agent  of — " 

"  A  paid  agent  of  one  to  whom  the  discov- 
ery of  your  birth  by  others  would  be  a  heavy 
blow,"  replied  the  Countess,  quickly.  "  She 
had  a  motive  in  deceiving  you  ;  she  read  your 
character  correctly :  she  knew  it  would  keep 
you  quiet.  But  stJ  you  had  only  her  bare 
word  in  support  of  ner  assertion.  I  will  give 
you  a  written  proof." 

"  A  document !"  murmured  Floret,  mechan- 
ically. 

"A  copy  of  the  certificate  of  your  mother's 
marriage  with  your  father!"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  slowly  and  emphatically.  "  A  mar- 
riage which  never  has,  and  never  can,  be  set 
aside.  Will  you  see  it  ?" 

"  Though  I  knew  that  death  would  fellow 
the  sight,  I  would  see  it !"  exclaimed  Floret, 
with  covulsive  emotion. 

The  Countess  passed  her  hands  across  her 
eyes,  and  passed  one  of  them  upon  her  heart. 

"  It  shall  be  so !"  she  muttered,  inwardly. 
"  He  shall  see  ber,  and  before  me.  I  will  watch 
every  change  in  his  countenance  when  his  eyes 
fall  first  upon  his  unacknowledged  child." 

Then,  with  a  deep  breath,  she  turned  her 
face  to  Floret,  and  said  : 

"  I  have  it  locked  up  in  a  desk  in  my  own 
private  boudoir  at  Brackleigh  House.  "  Will 
you  accompany  me  thither,  and  I  will  show  it 
to  you?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Floret,  promptly* 

"  Now  ?"  asked  the  Countess. 

"  This  moment,"  returned  Floret. 

"  Attire  yourself,  and  we  will  depart  instant- 
ly," said  the  Countess. 

Floret  hastened  to  her  chamber  to  put  on 
her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  the  Countess,  as  she 
looked  after  her,  murmured : 

"  The  plot  thickens — the  end  drars  near—- 
and then  rest — rest !  When  will  this  weary 
heart  know  rest  ?" 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  'Tis  an  awful  thing 

To  touch  such  mischief  as  I  now  conceive. 
So  men  sit  shivering  on  the  dewy  bank, 
And  try  the  chill  stream  with  their  feet ;  once  in— '  ' 

— SHEUJII. 

Three  years  elapsed  between  the  departure 
of  the  Marquis  and  the  Marchioness  of  West- 
Chester  from  England  and  their  return.  In 
that  period,  how  much  had  happened  to  re- 
lieve Constance  Marchioness  of  Westchester 
from  the  fear  of  being  subjected  to  an  indict- 
ment for  bigamy,  and  how  much  to  confirm 
her  apprehensions  that  such  must  be  her  fate 
at  last? 

As  we  hare  seen,  she,  with  a  reckless  daring, 
which  in  some  instances  she  unhesitatingly 
displayed,  gave  to  the  Marquis  the  alternative 
of  parting  from  her  forever,  if  he  declined  to 
accept  her  proposition  to  go  abroad.  He  de- 
cided not  to  part  with  her,  and  they  went 
abroad. 

Her  impression  was  that  her  secret  depart- 
ure from  London  would  relieve  her,  not 


but  from  the  persecution  of 
Bertram,  Earl  of  Brackleigh. 

She  still  loved  the  man.  For  his  character 
she  entertained  the  profoundest  contempt ;  but 
he  still  wielded  a  fascination  over  the  weaker 
part  of  her  nature,  which  it  cost  her  a  mighty 
and  a  constant  struggle  to  forget. 

This  was  not  an  anomaly  alone  in  the  char- 
acter of  Constance,  it  is  common  to  woman. 
There  is  this  peculiarity  in  the  love  of  woman, 
that  she  loves  a  man  for  himself.  She  might 
be  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  adoration  if  he 
possessed  all  the  attributes  which  ennoble  his 
aex ;  but  if  in  some  plausible  guise  he  wins  her 
love,  she  will  lore  him  still,  even  after  having 
discovered  him  to  be  an  unworthy  scoundrel. 
His  character  is  to  her  a  thing  apart,  and  when 
once  she  has  yielded  up  her  heart  to  him, 
though  seas  may  divide  them  and  years  part 
them,  the  influence  he  once  possessed,  if  it  lie 
dormant,  is  never  wholly  destroyed. 

Constance  had  loved  Bertram  with  the  full, 
gushing,  passionate  love  of  a  young  girl  of  aa 
ardent,  willful  temperament.  She  had  loved 
him  without  reserve,  and  had  married  him  in 
defiance  of  consequences.  "When  his  love  be- 
came passive  in  its  character,  she  began  to 
fancy  herself  slighted;  her  pride  took  tte 
alarm— her  pride  for  the  time  overrode  her 
love,  and  we  know  the  result. 

So  long  as  he  did  not  cross  her  path,  her  lip 
curled  with  disdainful  scorn  when  she  thought 
of  him :  yet  her  cheek  flushed,  her  bosom 
heaved,  and  an  unbidden  wish  that  they  had 
never  parted  would  form  itself,  and  disturb  her 
forced  calmness  more  than  she  liked  to  silently 
confess. 

Even  though  she  quitted  London  to  avoid 
him,  and  she  had  made  an  inward  resolve  to 
forget  him  if  she  could,  his  form  would  obtrude 
itself  upon  her  vision,  and  a  secret  urging  in 
his  favor  would,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  chase 
it  away,  torment  her,  only  too  frequently. 

She  arrived  with  the  Marquis  in  Paris,  and 
they  immediately  plunged  into  a  round  of 
gayety.  They  had  the  entree  to  the  highest 
circles,  and  they,  apparently  by  tacit  consent 
— for  their  movements  were  never  submitted 
to  each  other — attended  a  soiree,  ball,  or  break- 
fast a  la  fourchette,  to  which  they  received  in- 
vitations. 

By  a  kind  of  tacit  agreement,  they  avoided 
being  alone  together.  The  Marquis,  with  a 
horrible  suspicion  pressing  up  on  his  brain,  felt 
that  he  could  not  sit  alone  with  her  and  not 
revert  to  what  had  happened.  He  knew  that 
if  he  did  so  he  should  draw  down  upon  him- 
self words  of  ecorn  and  insult,  at  which  his 
pride  would  revolt,  and  lie  should  obtain  no 
satisfaction.  He  would  have  been  content  with 
her  Bolemn  assurance  that  he  had  no  just  cause 
for  his  suspicions  ;  but  she  had  always  refu*d 
to  enter  upon  the  subjee*  at  all,  invited  him  to 
think  as  he  pleased,  and  never  hesitated  to  ex- 
press her  readiness  to  separate  from  him,  if  he 
felt  dissatisfied  with  the  wretched  incertitude 
in  which  ne  had  been  placed  by  his  apprehen- 
eions  that  her  conduct  before  they  were  mar- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


108 


ried  had  not  been  so  circumspect  as,  in  her 
high  position,  it  should  have  been. 

The  Marchioness  did  not  let  the  world  per* 
ceive  that  she  had  an  undying  worm  ever 
gnawing  at  her  heart.    Her  eye  was  bright, 
her  complexion    dazzlingly  fair,  her  cheek 
round,  and  her  step  springy,  though  proad. 

She  was  only  pale— -very  pale. 

The  shrewdest  of  her  own  sex  decided  that 
she  had  a  concealed  love  preying  npoo  her 
mind.  Men  said  that  she  was  proud,  haughty, 
and  of  a  nature  which  had  no  love  in  its  com- 
position. An  iceberg,  indeed,  in  the  shape  of 
an  exquiaitely-formed  woman. 

She  was  indeed,  an  iceberg  to  them.  A  few, 
who  believed  that  they  had  claims  to  flirt  with 
an  Empress,  approached  her,  flattered  her, 
courted  her,  intimated  that  they  were  dazzled 
by  her  beauty,  and  were  her  slaves.  They 
could  advance  no  farther — the  look  of  immeas- 
urable scorn,  the  freezing  contempt  with  which 
she  responded  to  such  addresses,  placed  them 
hors  de  combat  inatanter. 

It  became  a  by- word  in  the  high  circles  in 
which  they  moved,  that  the  man  who  bent  a 
look  of  loving  admiration  upon  the  lovely 
Marchioness  of  Westchester  was  immediately 
buried  beneath  an  avalanche  of  snow. 

At  one  of  the  most  brilliant  fetes  given  at 
the  Tuileries,  the  Marquis  of  Westchester  hap- . 
pened,  for  a  few  minutes,  to  be  promenading 
by  the  side  of  the  Marchioness. 

They  came  suddenly  face  to  face  tfith  the 
Earl  and  Countess  of  Brackleigh. 

It  was  a  strange  encounter. 

The  two  men  instantly  recognized  each 
other,  and  the  flashing  look  which  passed  be- 
tween them  was  such  as  is  given  by  men  who 
thirst  for  each  other's  lives,  and  will  be  satis- 
fied with  no  less.  ' 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  gazed  into  the 
eyes  of  the  Marchioness  with  the  fiery  expres- 
sion of  a  woman  who,  knowing  that  she  has 
been  wronged,  beholds  the  guilty  creature  be- 
fore her.  The  Marchioness  returned  her  glance 
with  one  of  ineffable  disdain. 

The  meeting,  the  recognition,  the  glances 
were  but  the  work  of  a  moment ;  they  passed 
on,  and  were  speedily  divided  by  a  huge  crowd 
of  magnificently-attired  men  and  women.  ) 

"  Westchester!"  exclaimed  the  Marchioness, 
within  a  minute  afterward,  calmly,  but  with 
determination ;  "  oblige  me  by  ordering  my 
carriage.  I  shall  return  instantly  ts  the  hotel. 
I  shall  leave  Paris  to-morrow,  for  Italy." 

He  glanced  furtively  at  her.  He  understood 
her  meaning.  He  hastened  to  comply  with 
her  wish,  and  returned  almost  immediately  to 
say  that  her  carriage  awaited  her. 

They  descended  the  stairs  together ;  the? 
waited  side  by  side  for  a  short  time  in  silence, 
until  the  vehicle  was  announced.  The  Mar- 
chioness entered  it ;  he  followed  her.  They 
rode  home  together  alone,  and  still  in  silence. 

By  dawn,  the  Marquis  was  astir,  and  when 
the  Marchioness  made  her  appearance,  the  car- 
riages, couriers,  servants,  etc.,  necessary  for 
the  journey,  were  ready  for  departure. 


104 


HAGAE  LOT;, 


They  proceeded  by  forced  stages  to  Italy. 
They  paused  not  until  they  reached  Borne. 
Here  they  remained  for  some  period,  pursuing 
the  eame  restless  course  of  pleasure,  and  pass- 
ing the  same  unsatisfactory  kind  of  existence 
as  in  Paris. 

The  Marchioness  .  never  walked  out  alone 
—she  always  rode  in  a  close  carriage,  un- 
less when  accompanied  by  the  Marquis, 
which  was  seldom.  She  declined  all  invita- 
tions to  parties,  unless  he  would  be  sure  to  be 
present. 

And  yet,  at  a  grand  reception  given  by  the 
Cardinal  Minister,  she  found  herself  separated 
from  the  Marquis. 

She  took  a  seat  near  to  the  oraagery,  on 
which  played  fountains  of  cool  water  and  fra- 
grant scents.  The  coolness  and  the  odor  of 
the  spot  were  grateful  to  her  as  a  change  from 
the  heated  apartments  in  which  she  had  been 
moving. 

She  had  not  been  ceated  an  instant  before 
she  felt  a  warm  breath  play  on  her  ear,  and 
•  f .he  heard  a  low  voice  say  : 

"  It  is  useless  to  avoid  me.  You  cannot  es- 
cape me,  for  I  love  you,  Constance.  If  it  be  a 
madness  to  do  so,  it  is  the  madness  of  desper- 
ation. You  have  been  mine,  yon  are  mine, 
you  shall  be  mine  until  death.  Say  where  I 
can  meet  you,  and  when,  alone.  Dare  not  re- 
fuse me,  or  I  will  pause  at  nothing  to  accom- 
plish the  resolution  I  have  tak<m." 

She  turned  her  face  upward ;  it  almost 
touched  that  of  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh.  A  cold 
shiver  went  through  her  frame. 

She  rose  up.  She  gazed  at  him  steadfastly 
and  firmly. 

"  I  defy  you !"  she  ejaculated,  in  low,  em- 
phatic tones. 

Then,  with  the  mien  of  a  queen,  she  moved 
with  slow  and  stately  step  from  the  place. 

At  a  turn  of  the  gilded  saloon,  she  encoun- 
tered the  Marquis. 

"  My  carriage,"  she  eai<?,  in  a  drier,  harsher 
tone  than  usual.  "  We  quit  Kome  at  day- 
break." 

He  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  He  glanced 
fiercely  round  the  chamber,  examining  sharply 
every  face  within  the  range  of  his  vision,  but 
•without  discovering  the  one  he  sought. 

The  Marchioness  swept  on,  and  he  was  com- 
pelled hastily  to  follow. 

Oa  overtaking  her,  he  said :  "  Whither  do 
you  propose  proceeding  to-morrow?" 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me,"  she 
returned,  with  a  weary  air  ;  "to  South  Amer- 
ica, if  you  will." 

They  proceeded  to  Florence.  Two  days  af- 
ter her  arrival,  the  Marchioness  observed'froin 
the  window  of  the  palace  which  the  Marquis 
had  engaged  for  their  abode,  the  Earl  of 
Brackleigh  passing  on  horseback  in  the  place 
below.  He  gazed  up  at  tie  window  at  which 
she  was  seated,  and  proceeded  slowly  on. 

Florence  was  quitted  for  Milan,  Milan  for 
Venice,  and  Venice  for  Naples.  Thence  to 
Turin,  and  back  to  Rome.  From  Home  to 
Paris,  and  back  again  to  Rome. 


And  these  changes  were  always  made  ab- 
ruptly at  the  instance  of  the  Marchioness, 
The  Marquis  never  questioned  their  pro- 
priety. 

He  instantly  acquiesced  to  the  proposition* 
of  the  Marchioness,  and  exerted  himself  to  s«e 
that  the  preparations  for  departure  from  each 
place  were  rapidly  and  promptly  made. 

But,  though  he  addressed  no  observations  to 
her,  he  was  satisfied  with  her  conduct — grati- 
fied rather  by  it. 

Hi  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  she  was 
persecuted  by  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  that 
she,  with  a  wondrous  firmness  of  resolution, 
avoided  him,  regardless  of  the  inconvenience*, 
the  annoyance,  and  the  fatigue  it  entailed  upon 
her. 

He  tried  his  utmoet  to  encounter  the  Earl 
in  eome  public  place,  or  alone,  but  in  vain. 

As  if  the  Earl  were  conscious  that  he  would 
make  such  an  endeavor,  he  avoided  a  meeting 
with  him,  and  successfully,  too. 

During  this  time,  the  Marquis  practiced 
daily  with  the  small-sword  and  with  a  pistoL 
He  suffered  no  engagement  to  interfere  with 
this  practice ;  he  acquired  great  proficiency 
with  the  sword,  and  he  found  ultimately  feu 
professors  of  fencing  who  could  protect  them- 
selves completely  from  his  attack,  or  who  could: 
hit  him  when  on  the  defence,  no  matter  how 
rapidly  the  passages  were  conducted. 

But  still,  although  his  attempts  were  made 
with  perseverance,  shrewdness,  and  even  cun- 
ning, he  could  not  meet  the  Earl  of  Braok- 
leigb.  face  to  face. 

His  position  was  an  awkward  one.  The  Mar- 
chioness  had  refused  even  to  allude  to  her 
early  connection  with  the  Earl.  She  never 
even  now  mentioned  his  name ;  there  was  not 
an  act  of  which  the  Earl  was  openly  guilty 
that  he  was  able  to  take  notice  of,  so  that  he 
might  promptly  dispatch  a  friend  to  him,  and 
thus  compel  him  to  meet  him  in  a  d  lei.  He 
was  forced,  therefore,  to  comply  with  the  suc- 
cessive requests  of  the  Marchioness  to  change 
their  locality  without  allusion  to  him,  and  to 
put  up  with  the  knowledge  that  his  wife  waa 
pursued  by  a  man  for  whom  he  personally  en- 
tertained the  most  malignant  sentiments,  with- 
out having  the  power  to  stay  him,  or  the  op- 
portunity of  avenging  the  affront. 

Thus  passed  away  the  three  years  of  ab- 
sence from  England.  The  Marchieness  reso- 
lutely adhered  to  her  determination  not  to 
speak  to  the  Earl,  nor  to  grant  him  an  inter- 
view. His  threats  she  treated  with  scorn,  and 
strangely  enough,  her  defiance  did  not  seem  to 
precipitate  him  into  any  course  which  she 
dreaded  more  than  that  which  he  was  pursu- 
ing, and  which  was  wearing  her  life  rapid- 
ly away. 

Three  years'  incessant  persecution  had  told 
seriously  upon  her.  She  was  still  fair,  beauti- 
ful, majestic  ;  but  she  was  colorless  as  death, 
and  her  face  was  thin  and  sorrowful  ia  its  ex- 
pression. She  still  affected  high  spirits— still 
spoke,  when  mixing  amocg  people  of  he? 
own  class,  with  a  loud,  laughing  tone,  and  yel 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


105 


moved  with  the  same  celerity  as  of  old.  But 
at  moments,  when  those  by  whom  ehe  wa§  eur- 
rotmdcd  could  least  expect  it,  she  would  be- 
come wholly  abstracted,  start  when  addressed, 
and  indulge  in  a  fresh  burst  of  sprightliuess 
which  iras  too  exaggerated  to  be  genuine. 

What  were  her  moods  when  in  the  solitude 
of  her  own  chamber,  she  alone  knew. 

Her  maids  were  often  certain,  when  they 
were  summoned  to  her  in  tltf  morning,  that 
she  had  slept  but  little  of  the  night,  and  had 
wept  a  great  part  of  it  away. 

At  last,  seemingly  worn  out  by  incessant 
traveling,  and  driven  into  a  corner,  she  elected 
to  take  a  desperate  course. 

"  The  battle  is  inevitable,"  she  communed 
with  herself;  "  it  must  be  fought,  and  it  shall 
be  fought  out  upon  its  own  ground." 

The  Marquis  received  lier  determination  to 
return  to  England  with  a  species  of  savage 
glee.  He,  too,  was  heart-sick  and  weary  of 
the  state  of  things  which  he  was  enduring, 
and  wjoicad  at  any  opportunity  which  prom- 
ised to  end  it. 

Preparations  were  made  for  a  swift  return  to 
Paris,  A  rest  of  two  or  three  days  there  was 
arranged,  and  then  for  Englamd — ho  I 

The  programme  was  carried  out,  and  the 
Marchioness  of  Westchester  found  herself  once 
more  occupying  her  suite  of  apartments  in  her 
London  mansion. 

Somehow,  although  the  sight  of  these  rooms 
revived  very  painM  memories,  yet  she  felt  a 
sense  of  security  and  comfort  in  them  which 
she  had  never  once  experienced  since  she  had 
left  England. 

It  is  said  that  consumptives,  when  in  their 
last  days,  have  their  bosoms  filled  with  renew- 
ed hope,  that  they  arrange  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture, as  if  they  had  years  before  them,  and 
feed  with  an  appetite  which  gives  no  sign  that 
they  are  conscious  that  the  shadow  of  death  is 
upon  them. 

Constance  felt  a  sense  of  comfort  and  secur- 
ity at  the  very  moment  that  the  events  she  had 
moat  seriously  to  apprehend  were  closing 
around  her. 

For  some  days  after  her  return,  she  remain- 
ed secluded  in  her  own  rooms,  employed  most- 
ly in  planniBg  out  a  course  for  the  future.  She 
decided,  after  a  long  meditation,  to  place  her 
whole  history  before  her  father,  to  bow  to  his 
judgment,  and  to  rely  upon  his  protection. 

He  would  at  least  shield  her  from  the  fury 
of  the  Marquis,  he  would  preserve  her  from 
the  attacks  of  Bertram,  and  if  she  were  com- 
pelled to  withdraw  from  society  and  live  for 
the  remainder  of  her  term  in  seclusion,  it  would 
be  pleasanter  and  happier  than  her  present 
state,  for  it  would  be  fsee  from  anxiety,  and 
secure  from  intrusion. 

Her  child  1  Did  she  not  think  of  that? 
She  did  ;  and  with  strange  feelings— strangely 
horrible  feelings— she  hoped  to  hear  that  it 
was  dead. 

^  She  had  not  heard  what  had  befallen  to  it 
since  she  quitted  England.  She  had  intrusted 
the  management  of  it  to  Hagar  Lot  She  be- 


lieved  it  to  be  still  at  the  sehool  at  which 
Hfigar  had  placed,  and  she  presumed  that  when 
it  quitted  Blixenfinik  Mansion,  it  would,  aa 
had  been  arranged,  be  made  to  believe  that  it 
was  the  child  of  shame,  and  would  be  sent 
abroad,  where  it  could  mix  in  society  without 
its  antecedents  becoming  known. 

Yes,  she  unquestionably  thought  of  it ;  and 
thought  of  it  frequently.  She  dreamed  of  it — 
saw  it  in  its  tawdry  dress,  as  she  had  with 
sickening  horror  beheld  it  at  Ascot ;  but  she 
thought  of  it  only  to  wish  that  it  had  never 
been,  or  that  it  would  die. 

She  thought,  however,  more  of  Bertram. 
She  thought,  indeed,  only  too  often.  His 
inflexible  perseverance  waa  haying  its  natural 
effect. 

It  compelled  her  to  think  of  him,  and  in 
thinking  of  him  to  remember. 

Time  softens  anger.  Time  smooths  down 
the  rough  points  of  wrongs.  Time  abates  the 
causes  of  quarrel,  and  clears  the  path  to  recon- 
ciliation. Injuries  looked  at  through  A  vista 
of  years  do  not  appear  so  formidable,  or  so 
unpardonable,  &a  when  they  have  just  been 
committed.  Reason,  after  a  lapse  of  time,  as- 
serts a  sway,  and  palliating  circumstances 
present  themselves,  and  ask  to  be  considered, 
seldom  without  success. 

When  once  more  in  England,  the  Marchion- 
ess began  to  think  as  Constance  thought  when 
a  girl.  She  went  over  the  incidents  which  had 
led  to  her  separation  from  Bertram  ;  and  in- 
sensibly they  began  to  assume  a  form  of  a  very 
dangerous  kind.  She  recalled  her  own  pro- 
ceedings, and  she  found  that  she  had  acted 
precipitately.  She  forgot  how  she  Lad  been 
urged  to  act  as  she  had  done.  She  forgot  that 
she  was  governed  by  the  high,  proud  spirit  of  a 
young,  uncontrollable  girl,  and  that  she  had  been 
treated  in  a  poor,  mean,  contemptible  spirit  by 
a  man  who  ought  to  have  been  proud  to  have 
proclaimed  to  the  world  the  treasure  which  was 
his.  No ;  she  unhappily  began  to  make  ex- 
cuses for  him,  to  see  that  he  had  had  cause  to 
complain — that  she  had  deserted  him,  not  ho 
her.  He  tad,  indeed,  obeyed  her  request — her 
demand— in  consenting  to  leave  her  free  and 
accept  his  o«rn  freedom;  and  she  felt  that  he 
was  justified  now  in  approaching  her  and  in 
addressing  her  as  ho  had  been  of  late  doing. 

He  was  her  husband;  neither  his  nor  her 
subsequent  marriage  invalidated  his  right,  at 
least,  to  speak  with  her. 

It  would  be  guiltiness  for  them  to  meet,  or 
even  to  correspond,  she  knew  that,  and  aid  not 
intend  so  do  either  ;  but  she  thought  that  it 
was  her  duty  to  think  better  of  him  than  she 
had  done. 

He  had  so  loved  her  when  they  first  met, 
and  when  first  they  were  married.  He  said 
that  he  loved  her  more  deeply  than  ever  now. 
If  proof  were  wanted,  surely  it  could  be  fur- 
nished in  the  persistency  with  which  lie  had 
followed  her  from  place  for  three  long,  dreary 
years  ;  and  in  the  tenderness  for  her  reputa- 
tion which  he  had  displayed,  by  committing  no 
act  during  the  whole  of  that  period  -which 


106 


HAGAR  LOT , 


should  direct  the  attention  of  the  world  to  him 
and  to  her. 

Yes,  Bhe  began  to  conceive  that  she  had 
thougnt  of  him  and  treated  him  too  harshly 
and  for  whom — the  Marquis ! 

A  man  with  a  cold,  hard,  proud,  selfish  na- 
ture, whom  she  had  never  loved,  and  for  whom 
onlj  too  often  she  had  felt  emotions  of  un 
qualified  hate. 

She  drew  a  comparison  between  the  Earl  am 
the  Marquis — a  most  dangerous  one  for  the 
latter — and  for  herself. 

Then  she  began  to  wonder  what  Bertram 
could  have  to  say  to  her,  what  he  would  be 
likely  to  propose  to  her,  and  what  course  she 
would  be  likely  afterward  to  follow. 

She  sighed  deeply.    She  could  not  grant 

him  the  interview,  for  the  Marquis  stood  in 

her  way. 

The  Marquis ! 

She  shuddered !     Then  a  cold,  icy  shiver 

stole  slowly  over  her  limbs,  and  she  turned 

deadly  pale. 

"What  if  the  Marquis  were  to  die  ? 
She  would  be  free— free  to  be  united  to  Ber- 
tram—free to  live  a  life  of  love  and  happiness 
with  him — a  delicious  reward  for  all  her  past 
misery. 

But  the  Marquis  was  healthy  and  strong, 
and  not  likely  to  die  soon,  unless — unless— 

She  covered  her  hands  over  her  ears  aod 
bent  her  face  down  to  her  knees,  for  a  voice 
whispered  hiaaingly  in  her  ear : 

"  Three  drops  of  that  powder,  dissolved  in 
any  warm  liquid,  and  administered,  will  produce 
certain  death  on  the  seventh,  fourteenth,  or 
twenty -first  day." 

And  those  words  were  repeated  again  and 
again  in  her  ears,  and  passed  through  her 
brain  incessantly,  until  she  sprang  from  her 
chair  and  paced  the  room  in  agony  and  dis- 
tress of  mind. 

While  walking  to  aad  fro,  with  disordered 
step,  her  maid,  Fane,  entered  the  room  with  a 
letter  upon  a  salver,  and  advanced  to  the 
Marchioness  with  it. 

With  an  impatient  gesture  she  took  it  from 
her,  and  without  even  glancing  at  the  super- 
scription, she  tore  it  open. 

She  recognized  the  handwriting  instantly. 
She  glanced  at  the  signature. 
It  was  signed,  "  Bertram !" 
With  the  train  of  thought  which  had  been 
passing  through  her  mind  and  still  lingered 
there,  it  was  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had  been 
launched  at  her. 

She  peremptorily  dismissed  her  maid  and 
eank  down  upon  the  couch.  For  some  time 
she  struggled  with  her  emotion,  but  for  a  long 
time  without  avail ;  at  length  she  obtained  the 
mastery,  and  became  calm — horribly  calm. 
Evil  influences  prevailed,  and  she  turned  her 
eyea  upon  the  letter,  and,  quivering  in  every 
limb,  commenced  to  read  it. 

Ay!  to  read  Bertram's  letter  to  her— MB 
wife. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


"  Who  lores,  raves— 'tis  youth's  frenzy— bat  the  cure 
la  bitterer  e till ;  as  charm  by  charm  unwinds 
Which  robed  cur  idols,  and  we  see  too  sure 
Nor  worth  nor  beauty  dwells  from  out  tha  mind's 
Ideal  shape  cf  such  ;  yet  still  it  binds 
The  fatal  (pell,  and  still  it  draws  us  on, 
Reaping  the  whirlwind  from  the  oft-sown  windo: 
The  stubborn  heart,  its  alchemy  begun, 
Seems  ever  near  the  prize— wealthier  when  most 
undone."  — BraoN. 

Floret,  in  a  whirl  of  excitement,  attired  her- 
self (juickly,  with  the  intention  of  accom- 
panying Lady  Brackleigh  to  Braokleigh  Man- 
sion. 

As  she  turned  to  leave  her  bed-room,  her 
eye  fell  upon  the  little  sleeping  child  intrusted 
to  her  charge. 

Its  meanings,  indeed,  attracted  her  atten- 
tion, and  as  she  gazed  at  it,  she  eaw,  by  its 
flushed  cheeks  and  restless  movements,  tfiat  it 
was  in  an  incipient  stage  of  some  fever  pecu- 
liar to  childhood,  and  that  it  would,  in  all 
probability,  be  in  a  few  hours  very  seriously 

She  saw  that  it  could  not  be  left  alone.  Ida 
had  set  out  for  Regent  street,  and  Mrs.  Spen- 
cer had  already  departed  to  meet  her  on  her 
return.  Wiat  was  therefore  to  be  done  ? 

To  defer  seeing  the  marriage-certificate  of 
her  mother  weuld  be  indeed  a  grievous  disap- 
pointment to  her.  She  attached  more  value 
to  the  certainty  of  its  existence  than  she  did  to 
her  o?ra  life ;  and  if  she  now  missed  the  chance 
of  beholding  it,  examining  it,  holding  it,  per- 
haps, ia  her  hand,  the  opportunity  might 
never  occur  to  her  again. 

She  looked  at  the  child ;  it  moved  uneasily, 
with  a  piteous  tone  ;  its  little  brows  were  con- 
tracted, and  its  chest  heaved  and  fell  rapidly ; 
it  clutched  with  its  small  scarlet  hands  at  th« 
bed  clothes ;  it  was  certainly  attacked  by  a 
fever,  but  it  still  slept. 

How  long  would  it  be  ere  it  awoke  ?  and  if 
it  awoke,  with  no  one  near  it  to  tend  it  and  as- 
suage its  paiu,  or  moisten  its  parched  lips,  and 
to  send  instantly  for  advice,  if  needed,  what 
might  be  the  result  ? 

Floret  thought  of  its  dead  mother  as  she 
ooked  steadfastly  at  it ;  she  thought  of  its 
'ather,  fighting  for  his  native  land,  far  away  in 
[ndia ;  she  thought  much  of  its  loneUnees,  of 
ts  being  cast  upon  strangers  for  protection 
and  kindness.  She  felt  that  she  had  only  her 
to  nurse  it,  to  minister  to  its  wants,  to  treat  it 
with  care  and  kindness,  to  take,  indeed,  the 
place  of  her  who  had  been  snatched  away 
rom  it— to  be  to  it  that  protector,  guide,  and 
jentle  guardian,  whom  she  had  herself  never 
mown,  whose  care  she  had  so  much  needed, 
and  had  so  much  missed. 

Knowing,  as  she  had  known,  the  terrible 
jonsequences  of  being  deserted  by  her  par- 
mts,  she  felt  that  ehe  could  not  now  leave  that 
>oor,  little,  forlorn,  sleeping  child,  grave  as 
he  results  of  staying  by  its  side  might  be  to 
erself. 

So,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  she  took  off  her  bon- 
net again,  restored  h€r  shawl  to  its  place,  and 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


107 


went  back  to  the  Countess,  who  was  impa- 
tiently awaiting  her. 

The  Countess  looked  surprised  to  find  that 
ahe  had  made  no  change  in  her  appearance, 
and  somewhat  impetuously  demanded  the 
reason. 

Floret  motioned  to  her  to  follow  her,  and 
conducted  her  to  her  sleeping-chamber.  She 
pointed  to  the  child. 

«'  It  is  in  my  care,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  See  its  heated  face,  its  burning  hands ;  it  is 
ill.  I  cannot  leave  it." 

41  Not  to  prove  to  yourself  that  no  brand  of 
shame  lies  upon  your  name,  blackening  its  fair 
reputation?"  observed  the  Countess,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  I  cannot  leave  it,"  replied  Floret,  in  a  low, 
ead  tone.  "  Some  inward  voice  tells  me  that 
if  I  do,  it  will  be  forever." 

"  What,"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  sharply 
and  fretfully,  as  though  she  considered  the 
condition  of  the  child  an  insufficient  argument 
for  Floret's  refusal  to  accompany  her ;  "  is  the 
little  creature  a  connection,  a  relative,  a  thing 
near  and  dear  to  you,  that  you  should  display 
euch  particular  consideration  for  it  ?" 

"  It  is  motherless,"  returned  Floret,  in  a  de- 
cided tone.  "  It  has  only  myself  to  rear  and 
cherish  it ;  if  I  leave  it,  I  know  of  no  one  who 
would  be  so  tender  of  its  welfare  as  I  am.  I 
have  suffered  so  much  that  I  cannot  eubm.it 
this  friendless,  parentless  child  to  the  mercy  of 
fate,  even  though  in  clinging  t°  it J  forego  the 
first,  nearest,  dearest  wish  of  my  heart." 

"  It  will  not  die,"  urged  the  Countess,  impa- 
tiently. "  Besides,  there  are  surely  others  wiio 
can  attend  it  as  well  as  you,  and  who  can  ob- 
tain as  readily  medical  assistance  if  it  should 
need  it." 

"  Those  who  could  supply  my  place  are 
away,"  responded  Floret. 

"  But  they  will  return  again,  probably,  be- 
fore the  child  wakes,"  persisted  the  Countess. 

"  Bo  not  urge  me,"  said  Floret,  firmly.  "  I 
cannot  leave  it." 

"  How  long  will  it  be  ere  those  to  whom  you 
allude  will  be  back  here  again  ?"  inquired  the 
Countess,  perseveringly. 

"  An  hour,  perhaps,"  answered  Floret. 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  the  Countess,  with  deter- 
mination, and  promptly  seated  herself. 

Floret  seated  herself,  too  ;  and  the  Countess, 
with  considerable  tact,  proceeded  to  put  many 
questions  to  her  respecting  her  past  life,  and 
elicited  from  her  answers  which  went  to  prove 
that  she  certainly  had  not  the  slightest  con- 
ception of  the  names  of  her  parents. 

While  still  in  the  midst  of  a  searching  cross- 
examination,  the  Countess  was  disturbed  by 
the  abrupt  opening  of  the  room- door,  and  the 
hurried  entrance  of  Ida,  who  ran  up  to  Floret, 
folded  her  arms  about  her  neck,  kissed  her 
fondly,  and  laying  her  burning  cheek  to  hers, 
she  said : 

"  O  darling,  dear,  dear  Floret,  I  have  had 
such  a  delightful  walk,  O,  so  delightful.  I  was 
quite  timid  in  the  great  shop,  and  I  am  sure  I 
shall  not  remember  what  that  great  black- 


whiskered  gentleman,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
department — does  not  that  sound  grand — to 
which  I  contribute  work,  said.  And  I  was 
quite  ||mid  when  I  started  to  come  back  alone ; 
but  I  soon  met  with  dear,  good  Mrs.  Spencer, 
and  shortly  after  that,  by  the  very  strangest 
chance  in  the  world,  we  met  with  the  Honor- 
able Hyde  Vaughan.  Mrs.  Spencer  knows 
him,  O,  so  well,  and  so  he  walked  home  with 
us,  and  Mrs.  Spencer  had  to  go  shopping,  and 
he  walked  part  of  the  way  with  me  alone, 
He  is  such  a  gentleman — such  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman —  not  in  conversation  alone,  but  in 
spirit,  in  conception,  in  principle,  and — O 
Floret !  I  do  feel  so  happy.  Do  you  know—" 

At  this  moment  her  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh.  She  started  from  her 
position,  and  stood  up  trembling,  and  covered 
with  confusion. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  she  said,  in 
a  faint  tone.  "  I  did  not  observe  your  pres- 
ence." 

The  Countess  eyed  her  curiously,  and  with 
a  searching  glance. 

Then  she  returned  to  Floret,  and  said : 

"  Is  this  young  lady  the  school-companion 
of  whom  you  were  speaking  to  me  a  few  mo- 
ments before  she  entered  ?" 

"  She  is,  Lady  Brackleigh,"  returned  Floret, 
looking  at  Ida  with  a  re-assuring  smile. 

Poor  Ida's  face  and  neck  wore  a  brilliant 
crimson,  and  Floret's  peculiar  smile  did  not 
help  to  reduce  her  color. 

"  You,  too,  are  unacquainted  with  your 
parents  ?"  said  the  Countess  to  her,  abruptly. 

Ida  looked  at  her  with  amazement. 

There  seemed  something  harsh  and  unfeel- 
ing in  the  way  she  put  the  question. 

The  tears  sprang  thickly  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  bent  her  head  assentingly.  She  could  not 
utter  a  word. 

"My  child,  you  have  been  deserted  for 
some  important  reason,"  pursued  the  Countess, 
reflectively,  as  she  gazed  at  her.  "  Parents 
do  not  discard  their  offspring  unless  under  the 
pressure  of  some  grave  motive.  Yet,  not  for 
one  so  secret  that  it  cannot  be  discovered. 
You  would,  of  course,  be  delighted  to  learn 
something  of  those  by  whom  you  Ijave  been 
deserted,  and  money  and  persevering  dili- 
gence will,  no  doubt,  unravel  the  mystery. 
You  shall  have  the  aid  of  both  ;  but,  in  return 
for  that  promise,  you  must  devote  yourself  to 
the  attention  of  the  little  child  in  yonder  bed- 
chamber, during  the  absence  of  your  friend 
and  companion,  Floret,  who  is  about  to  ac- 
company me  to  my  house  for  a  short  time. 
She  may  return  to-night,  or  it  may  be  to  to- 
morrow, or  not  for  a  day  or  two  beyond. 
That  will  depend  upon  circumstances  which 
at  the  present  moment  I  have  not  under  con- 
trol." 

Ida's  face  blanched.  She  caught  Floret  by 
the  hands. 

"  You  are  not  about  to  desert  me,  Floret?" 
she  exclaimed,  anxiously. 

" No,  indeed,  Ida,"  replied  Floret,  quickly. 
"  I  shall  be  away  from  you,  I  hope—I  believe 


108 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


—for  a  few  hours  only,  and  I  anticipate  that 
you  will  find  me,  upon  my  return,  happier 
tiian  you  have  ever  known  me  to  be." 
i  **  Then,  pray — pray  go !  do  not  he«d  me ! 
rejoined  Ida,  eagerly.  "  I  shall  be  happier 
even  than  I  am  now  to  know  that  the  load  of 
c»r«,  which  has  so  long  rested  upon  your 
mind,  has  been  removed.  Go,  dear  Edith — I 
mean  Floret.  Ah  I  I  shall  never  learn  to  call 
you  by  any  other  name  than  that  by  which  I 
first  knew  you.  Go!  but  do  not  be  longer 
absent  than  you  can  avoid !" 

"  Edith  1"  repeated  the  Countess,  with  some 
little  earnestness.  Then,  addressing  Floret, 
she  said :  "  Have  you  ever  borne  the  name  of 
Edith?" 

"  It  was  the  name  by  which  I  was  known 
»nly  at  the  school  in  Yorkshire,"  returned 
Floret.  "  It  was  a  name  given  to  me  by  the 
agent  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  to  your 
ladyship ;  but  I  believe  it  was  used  only  for 
the  purpose  of  concealment.  I  had  not  borne 
it  before,  nor  have  I  since." 

•'  Let  me  see,"  muttered  the  Countess, 
speaking  to  herself.  "  Constance  Ada  Edith— 
alia !  it  is  so — my  memory  is  not,  I  am  sure, 
treacherous  I  That  name,  you  say,"  she  sub- 
joined, addressing  Floret,  "  was  borne  by  you 
at  tho  Yorkshire  school,  and  tendered  as 
yours  to  the  mistresses  of  the  establishment 
by  the  agent  of— of— by  the  person,  I  mean, 
whom  you  have  mentioned  to  me  ?" 

Floret  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

The  Countess  mused  for  a  moment. 

"  It  is  worth  the  trial,"  she.  muttered.  "  It 
ehaU  be  attempted !" 

Again  addressing  Floret,  but  in  a  milder 
and  pleasanter  tone,  she  said : 

14 1  await  you,  child.  As  soon  as  you  are 
ready,  we  will  depart." 

Floret  retired  to  her  bedchamber,  and  once 
more  donned  her  walking  attire.  Ida,  who 
had  followed  her  thither,  received  from  her 
the  instructions  she  had  to  give  respecting  the 
little  Indian  girl ;  but  had  no  time  to  relate 
the  particulars  of  the  adventures  which  had 
befallen  herself,  although  every  little  inci- 
dent crowded  to  her  lips,  and  yearned  to  pop 
out.  They  embraced  each  other  tenderly,  and 
Floret  cast  her  eyes  around  the  apartment,  as 
if  to  take  a  last  survey  of  it. 

A  kind  of  presentiment  stole  over  her  mind, 
to  the  effect  that  she  was  looking  her  last  upon 
it,  and  she  bade  a  mental  farewell  to  an  abode 
in  which  she  had  been  as  happy,  if  not  hap- 
pier, than  in  any  other  so  long"  as  she  could 
remember. 

The  Countess  had  informed  Lord  Victor 
that  she  should  be  happy  of  his  escort  home; 
but  she  did  not  enter  the  room  in  which  he 
and  Hyde  Yaughan  were  seated,  closeted  with 
Mrs.  Spencer,  drawing  out  of  that  excellent 
old  lady  every  information  which  she  possess- 
ed respecting  Floret  and  Ida.  She  descended 
the  stairs  with  swift  steps,  and  was  out  in  the 
street  before  Floret  could  remind  her  that 
Lord  Yictor  was  awaiting  her  in  Mrs,  Spen- 
cer's room. 


A  cab  was  passing ;  the  Countess  hailed  it, 
'and  bade  the  driver  conduct  them  to  Brack- 
leigh  Hanaion,  Grosvenor  gate.  She  made 
Floret  enter  before  her,  and  hastily  followed 
her. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Countess. 

On  alighting,  she  entered  the  spacious  ball. 
A  number  of  servants  were  congregated  there, 
and  were  going  through  the  laborious  process 
of  making  bets  upon  some  sporting  event,  and 
Nat  Ferret  was  among  them,  advising  them  to 
back  certain  horses  which  were  sure  to  win 
the  races  for  which  they  were  entered,  although 
he  was  so  weak  and  foolish  as  to  lay  long  odds 
against  them.  But  there,  as  he  said,  cheer- 
fully, he  did  not  mind  losing  a  pound  or  two, 
and  he  laid  the  odds  just  to  oblige  them. 

On  the  entrance  of  the  Countess  and  Floret, 
the  men  all  arranged  themselves,  hurriedly,  in 
a  line,  Nat  Ferret  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase. 

Aa  they  reached  him,  an  involuntary  ex- 
clamation burst  from  his  lips.  The  Countess 
looked  quickly  and  suddenly  at  him.  She  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  fastened  upon  Floret's  face. 

She  bent  her  Lead  swiftly  cloee  to  her,  and, 
in  low,  but  rapid  accents,  said  : 

"  Let  fall  your  vail,  my  dear  child." 

Floret  obeyed  her,  and  they  passed  up  the 
magnificent  stone  staircase,  which  ascended  to 
the  top  of  the  building,  until  they  reached  the 
corridor  which,  led  to  the  Countess's  suite  of 
rooms.  Tho  latter  then  took  Floret  by  the 
hand,  and  conducted  her  to  her  private  sitting- 
room — her  boudoir — into  which  no  one  but 
herself  was  allowed  to  enter,  save  the  Earl, 
who  very,  very  rarely  invaded  its  sanctity,  and 
the  Countess's  favorite  maid,  Subtle. 

The  Countess,  with  a  display  of  urbanity 
and  attention  which  Floret  felt  was  shown  to 
her  in  order  that  she  might  not  feel  uncom- 
fortable while  there,,  and,  longing  to  get  away, 
try  to  do  so,  bade  her  remove  her  walking 
habiliments,  and  divest  herself  of  all  restraint. 
She  entreated  her,  also,  to  make  herself  quite 
as  much  at  ease  as  if  she  were  in  her  own 
apartments  in  Pimlico. 

She  observed  that  Floret  woo  much  struck 
by  the  magnificence  of  the  adornment,  and 
the  luxurious  furnishing  of  the  room,  and  she 
noticed  that  a  proud  expression  passed  over 
her  features.  She  saw,  too,  that  she  drew  her- 
self up,  and  that  she  stepped  in  that  splendid- 
ly-decorated apartment  with  a  demeanor 
which  she  had  seen  no  other  woman  display, 
except  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester. 

"Do  you  like  this  apartment?"  inquired  the 
Countess,  eyeing  her  attentively. 

"It  is  superb  1"  was  the  reply,  as  Floret 
looked  admiringly  about  her. 

The  Countess  sighed. 

"  This  magnificence  alone  does  not  bring 
happiness,"  ehe  said. 

•«  No,"  faltered  Floret,  dropping  her  eyes 
upon  the  carpet. 

And  she  thought,  what  to  her  would  be  a 
{dace  so  gorgeous  as  this,  if  she  had  not  a  lair, 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


109 


wear  when  surrounded  by 
such  splendor? 

"It  might  have  added  to  mice,"  observed 
the  Countess,  thoughtfully.  "I  thought  it 
would.  When  even  aa  young  as  you  are,  I  was 
liviEg  in  a  style  not  less  magnificent  than  this, 
I  imagined  that  I  had  but  to  add  a  title  to  my 
name  to  win  a  life  of  unparalleled  happiness. 
I  secured  the  title,  and  with  it  bought  a  life's 
xnisery.  But  we  shall  talk  over  these  sad 
events  soon  enough.  I  am  interested  in  your 
fate,  Floret — deeply  interested.  At  first  I 
fully  intended  to  include  you  in  my  great  re- 
venge ;  but  your  gentleness,  your  rectitude  of 
principle,  your  modest  estimate  of  yourself, 
your  just  appreciation  of  the  position  in  which 
these  who  should  have  enobled  you  have 
placed  you,  have  enlisted  my  strong  sympa- 
thies for  you,  the  more  particularly  when  Ire- 
member  the  sphere  is.  which  you  should  have 
moved.  I  know  the  condition  into  which  you 
have  been  thrust,  and  the  wretchedness  you 
Ijave  been  compelled  to  ^endure.  There  is  a 
goal  which  you  must  strive  to  win,  or  pine  in 
obscurity,  and,  perhaps,  die  in  want.  To 
reach  this  goal,  you  must  pause  at  nothing 
which  shall  conduct  you  to  it,  save  such  aots 
as  would  bring  a  blush  to  your  che^k,  or  leave 
a  pang  upon  your  memory.  I  am  desirous  of 
guiding  you  on  your  path,  of  advising  and  di- 
recting you.  I  wish  you  to  be  led  by  me,  en- 
tertaining, at  the  same  time,  the  conviction 
that  I  will  neither  suggest  nor  acjvise  you  to 
take  any  step  derogatory  to  your  honor,  or 
opposed  to  your  sense  of  what  is  right.  Will 
you,  with  this  understanding,  consent  to  sur- 
render your  judgment  to  me,  and  do  as  I  shall 
recommend  you?" 

"  I  am  willing  to  do  anything  which  is  not 
blamable  to  become  mistress  of  the  facts  of 
which  you  have  promised  to  give  me  proofs," 
returned  Floret,  without  hesitation. 

"  Enough,"  answered  the  Countess,  la- 
conically. 

She  rang  her  bell  sharply.  Almost  instant- 
ly, it  was  answered  by  her  maid,  Subtle. 

The  Countess  beckoned  to  her  as  she  ap-. 
peared  at  the  door,  and,  pointing  to  Floret, 
eke  said  : 

"Assist  that  young  lady  to  remove  her  bon- 
net and  shawl." 

At  the  same  time,  with  an  impatient  haste, 
ehe  tore  ralher  than  took  cff  her  own. 

While  thus  engaged,  she  watched  the  face  of 
her  maid,  Subtle,  attentively. 

As  Floret  lifted  up  her  vail  and  removed 
her  bonnet,  she  saw  that  the  eyes  of  Subtle 
expanded,  and  she  heard  a  faint  exclamation 
of  surprise  burst  from  her  lips. 

She  made  no  remark  until  Floret's  shawl 
was  removed,  and  she  stood  in  her  plain  yet 
neat  and  elegant  robe,  which  she  wore  in  her 
secluded  apartments  at  Pimlico, 

Subtle' s  behavior  was  a  pattern  of  discretion 
and  civility  It  was  very  evident  to  the  mar- 
chioness that  she  was  utterly  amazed,  and 
could  not  keep  her  eyes  from  Floret's  face. 
Tet  ehe  moved  about  and  busied  herself,  and 


seemed  BO  occupied  with  mailers  which, 
though  trifles,  were  very  conducive  to  personal 
comfort,  that  Floret  did  not  for  an  instant 
imagine  that  ehe  was  taking  more  notice  of 
her  than  efee  would  of  any  ordinary  guest  of 
her  ladyship's. 

Presently  the  Countess  said  to  Floret : 

"  Do  you  remember  my  maid,  Subtle, 
Floret?" 

Floret  was  surprised  at  the  question,  but  it 
flashed  through  her  mind  that  when  ill  there, 
some  few  years  previously,  that  a  young  wom- 
an assisted  Susan  Atten  to  wait  upon  her. 

She  looked  at  Subtle,  but  she  did  not  recog- 
nize the  face.  She  thought,  however,  that  it 
was  possible  that  ehe  had  seen  her  in  that 
house  before,  but  she  did  not  remember  her. 
To  elicit  this  acknowledgment  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  purpose  of  the  Countess*  question. 
She  wished  to  draw  from  Subtle  an  unsolicited 
recognition  of  Floret,  and  she  obtained  it. 

"  Is  this  lady  the  same  person  as  the  young 
child  who  was  attacked  by  the  scarlet  fever 
when  your  ladyship  brought  her  from  some 
place  where  your  ladyship  had  discovered 
her  ?  '  said  Subtle,  quickly  ;  and  added,  "  Tour 
ladyship  will  pardon  me,  I  know,  if  I  do  not 
express  myself  properly,  but  I  now  remember 
the  young  lady's  face.  I  thought  that  it  was 
quite  familiar  to  me,  but  I  could  not  remember 
where  I  had  eeen  it  before." 

"Not  even  in  a  miniature?"  inquired  the 
Countess,  meaningly. 

Subtle  made  a  alight  gesture  with  her 
hands. 

"  To  be  sure,  my  lady,  of  course,  that  is 
where  I  have  seen  the  face  I"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Your  ladyship  means  that  miniature  of  the 
Marchioness  — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interposed  the  Countess,  quickly. 
"  You  remember  how  that  young  lady  wore 
her  hair?"  , 

"  Perfectly,  my  lady,"  answered  Subtle. 

"  And  the  style  of  drees  ?"  Continued  the 
Countess. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  lady!  I  remember  it  very, 
well,"  replied  her  maid. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  attire  this  young 
lady  so  as  to  resemble  that  portrait  ?"  interro- 
gated the  Countess.  j 

"  Certainly,  my  lady,  as  closely  as  possible," 
she  answered. 

"How  long  would  ife  occupy  to  alter  a  dress 
— make  a  new  one — in  fact,  to  render  her  the 
counterpart  of  the  miniature  of  which  I  have 
spoken?'  asked  the  Countess,  and  added,  "I 
mean  the  shortest  time  possible." 

"Two  days,  my  lady,  if  I  alone  do  the 
work,"  answered  Subtle ;  *'  but  if  eeveral  hands 
are  employed,  cot  a  day  would  be  required."  | 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  Countess  She  dis- 
missed her  maid  ;  and  when  the  litter  quitted 
the  room,  ehe  turned  to  Floret,  and  said  to 
her: 

"  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head  by  which  I 
think  I  can  materially  shorten  the  term  of 
your  continuance  as  one  unknown  and  name- 
less ;  and  to  accomplish  it  I  wish  you  to  dreea 


110 


HAGAE,  LOT  ; 


in  a  manner  I  shall  prescribe.  It  is  a  style  of 
attire  which  will  bo  very  becoming  to  yon.  I 
assure  you  that  you  might  be  mistaken  for  a 
princess  in  the  garb  I  suggest  that  you  should 
wear." 

A  faint  blush  spread  itself  over  Floret's  face. 
She  remembered  how  much  she  had  once 
longed  to  appear  as  a  princess — "  a  foreign 
princess' '—and  what  result  had  attended  that 
wish. 

"  I  can  carry  out  my  schemes  without  it." 
continued  the  Countess,  observing  the  slight 
confusion  which  she  betrayed,  "  though  not  so 
well.  I  see  no  harm  in  your  attiring  yourself 
so  as  to  resemble  a  picture ;  but  if  you  think 
it  objectionable,  it  shall  not  be  done." 

"  Anything  to  win  for  me  the  right  to  a 
name,"  said  Floret,  with  clasped  hands. 

"  It  will  be  requisite  that  you  should  remain 
here  for  two  days  or  more,"  subjoined  the 
Countess,  quickly.  "No  wicked  designs 
against  your  peace  or  comfort  can  reach  you 
here.  You  shall  have  one  of  my  own  rooms, 
which  no  person  in  this  mansion  will  dare  to 
approach  without  my  permission;  and  the 
short  delay  will  give  me  the  opportunity  of 
gathering  together  all  the  documents  necessary 
to  enlighten  you  respecting  your  origin. 
Years  have  elapsed  since  they  were  in  my 
possession  ;  and  they  have  been  hidden  away 
in  obscure  places,  so"  secret,  indeed,  that  it  will 
require  some  effort  of  the  memory  to  remem- 
ber where  I  have  placed  them.  You  can  pen 
a  few  lines  to  your  friend  at  Pimlic3,  to  set  her 
mind  at  ease,  and  before  a  week  shall  elapse, 
you  shall  not  only  know  all,  but  have  in  your 
possession  the  proofs  of  every  statement  which 
shall  have  been  made  to  you." 

Floret  assented;  for  the  thought  crossed 
her  that  it  would  be  worth  any  risk  to  be  able 
to  meet  Lord  Victor  on  equal  terms. 

He  had  been  a  star  shining  in  her  eyes  for 
years;  but  he  had  appeared  to  be  so  far  off, 
that  she  believed  that  nothing  but  her  deep 
and  earnest  wishes  for  his  happiness  could 
ever  reach  him. 

The  promises  of  the  Countess  altered  that 
impression,  and  her  heart  yearned  for  their 
consummation. 

Two  days  elapsed.  She  remai  ned  a  prisone 
the  whole  time  in  the  rooms  which  had  been 
set  apart  for  her,  and  she  had  only  her  own 
company,  and  that  of  an  ample  supply  of 
books,  to  solace  her.  Yet  those  days  some- 
how went  quickly,  for  hope  was  in  her  heart 
now,  and  she  looked  forward  to  a  time  which 
Hfigar  Lot's  revelation  had  previously  shut 
out  of  her  vision  altogether. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  she  awoke 
and  found  the  Countess's  maid,  Subtle,  at  her 
bed-side.  Although  the  latter  had  previously 
waited  upon  her  exclusively,  she  had  not  as 
yet  paid  her  such  attention  as  this  :  indeed, 
Floret  had  not  wished  it,  and  had  requested 
her  to  spare  herself  as  much  trouble  as  she 
Could. 

The  mystery  was,  however,  soon  explained. 

Floret  saw  in  Subtle's  hand  a  rich,  pale-blue 


silk  dress,  upon  which  were  embroidered  * 
small  group  of  flowers.  It  was  a  costly  dress, 
and  looked  very  beautiful. 

"It  is  the  wish  of  the  Countess,  if  you 
please,  Miss,  that  you  should  wear  this  rob« 
when  you  dress  to-day,"  said  Subtle,  with  a 
smile  of  triumph  upon  her  countenance ;  "  it 
is  such  a  charming  dress,  and  it  will  become 
you  so  much." 

Floret  could  not  help  feeling  a  flutter  a4;  the 
heart.  She  knew  the  hour  had  arrived  in 
which  she  was  to  play  a  part.  Before  whom, 
with  what  purpose,  or  what  result,  she  could 
only  form  a  very  vague  guess. 

She  rose,  breakfasted,  and  then  gave  herself 
up  to  Subtle  to  be  attired.  The  woman  took 
great  pains  with  her  hair,  making  very  com- 
mendatory remarks  upon  its  beauty  and  its 
quantity.  At  last,  having  arranged  it,  ehd 
placed  a  simple  flower  ki  it,  and  it  was  com- 
pleted quite  to  her  satisfaction,  as  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  make  known. 

Then  followed  the  donning  of  the  dress,  the 
setting'it  off  to  the  best  advantage,  the  altera- 
tions, the  additions,  and  those  little  perform- 
ances which  take  so  much  time,  but  which,  of 
course,  meet  with  so  ample  a  reward  in  the 
admiration  they  assist  to  excite. 

Floret  at  last  was  attired,  and  surveyed  her- 
self in  a  cheval  glass.  She  was  startled  by  her 
own  appearance. 

She  was  by  no  means  vain ;  but  she  had  a 
very  keen  perception  of  the  beautiful.  In- 
deed, the  figure  she  beheld  in  the  glass  she 
considered  to  be  so  unlike  her  own,  that  for  the 
moment  she  believed  that  a  stranger  had  en- 
tered the  room,  and  she  turned  her  head 
sharply  round ;  the  maid,  Subtle,  however, 
was  alone  with  her. 

Then  she  looked  again  in  the  glass,  at  first 
timidly,  then  delightedly,  and  ultimately 
proudly. 

"  At  least,"  she  thought,  "those  with  whom 
I  am  connected  by  birth  cannot  be  ashamed  of 
me." 

She  looked  again.  Her  fair  hair  was  eo 
tastefully  arranged,  the  dress  was  so  beautiful 
in  itself,  and  fitted  her  form  so  exactly,  that  it 
was  not  possible  to  avoid  admiring  herself 
more  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 

Why  this,  indeed,  was  being  dressed  like  a 
princess.  If,  when  attired  in  her  blue,  star- 
spotted  dress,  and  her  wreath  of  stained  mus- 
lin flowers,  she  thought  it  possible  to  charm 
the  heart  of  a  young  lord,  it  was  not  surprising 
that  a  wish  should  rise  up  in  her  mind  that 
Lord  Victor  could  see  her  now. 

Perhaps,  as  he  was  on  such  friendly  terms 
with  the  Countess,  she  had  arranged  that  he 
should  see  how  a  poor  girl  should  look  when 
finely  attired.  It  was  but  a  fancy,  but  it  was 
one  which  she  had  a  latent  hope  would  prove 
true. 

She  scarcely  listened  to  the  remarks  of  Sub- 
tle, her  mind  was  so  occupied  with  the  wish  to 
know  what  would  be  Lord  Victor's  thought! 
of  her  when  he  saw  her  thus  dressed,  and,  with 
a  quiet,  gratified  smile  upon  her  beautiful  face 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


11* 


•he  announced  herself  ready  to  be  conducted 
to  the  contest,  before  Subtle  had  finished  her 
expressions  of  admiration,  and  her  assertion 
that  she  was  as  like  "  the"  miniature  as  twins 
were  like  each  other. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  was  perusing  a 
letter  when  she  entered.  The  rustle  of  her 
Bilk  dress  caused  the  Countess  to  raise  her 
eyes,  and  she  uttered  instantly  an  ejaculation 
of  wonder,  and  it  seemed  fear ;  for  she  sprang 
to  her  feet  as  though  a  phantom  had  glided 
into  her  apartment,  and  revealed  itself  before 
her. 

Floret's  salutation,  however,  instantly  re 
stored  her  to  her  composure,  and,  placing  her 
hand  to  her  temple,  she  said : 

"I  scarcely  knew  you  when  you  entered, 
your  attire  has  so  changed  you. "  Pardon  my 
excitement,  my  nerves  have  been  shattered, 
and  I  fear  they  will  never  recover  their  orig- 
inal firmness.  Be  seated ;  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you." 
Floret  obeyed. 

The  Countess  having  made  a  warm  eulogy 
upon  her  appearance,  then  added : 

"  I  heard  your  young  companion,  who  re- 
sides with  you  at  Pimlico,  call  you  Edith— a 
name  by  which  ,YOTI  were  known  at  school. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  be  addressed  by 
that  name  while  staying  beneath  this  roof  ?" 
t  "  None  whatever,"  returned  Floret.  "  I  dis- 
like the  name  simply  because  it  was  associated 
with  so  much  that  was  painful  and  humiliat- 
ing to  me,  but  I  have  no  objection  to  assume 
it  again  if  you  wish  me  to  do  so." 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  Countess,  quickly,  "  and 
with  it  another  name." 
Floret  looked  at  her  questioningly. 
"  What  name  ?"  she  asked,  hesitatingly. 
"It  will  be   needful  that  you  should  be 
known  by  a  surname  as  well  as  a  Christian 
name,"  observed  the  Countess,  in  a  low  tone. 
"It  will  not  do  for  the  servants  here  to  speak 
of  you  as  Miss  Edith  only.    Do  you  under- 
stand me,  Floret  ?" 

"I— I— do,"  returned  Floret,  with  embar- 
rassment ;  a  crimson  flush  spread  itself  over 
her  face  and  neck,  and  she  bent  her  eyes  to  the 
ground. 

Her  fine  dress  seemed  to  her  to  be  a  moekery 
now. 

The  Countess  observed  her  emotion,  al- 
though she  strove  to  suppress  it. 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  my  dear  child," 
she  added,  hastily.  "  I  will  be  as  tender  of 
your  feelings  as  I  can  possibly,  but  there  are 
some  questions  which  we  must  settle,  and  this 
is  one.  Have  you  heard  of  the  name  of  Plan- 
tagenet  ?"  ahe  inquired,  looking  steadfastly  at 
her. 

Floret  raised  her  eyes  with  a  wondering 
look. 

"In  Englieh  history,  certainly,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  But  have  you  heard  it,  or  do  you  know  it 
as  belonging  to  any  one— a  commoner— of  the 


present  day?"   inquired  the  Countess,  etiU 
scrutinizing  her  features  closely. 
Floret  shook  her  head. 
"  I  have  not,"  she  replied,  with  some  deci- 
sion. 

The  Countess  appeared  satisfied. 
"How  would  that   name   suit  yon?"  she 
observed.    "  Miss  Edith  Plantagenet  sounds 
well." 

"To  one  who,  like  myself,  has  no  name," 
responded  Floret,  again  drooping  her  head 
"it  matters  little  what  name  is  chosen  me  for 
adoption." 

The  Countess  smiled  strangely. 
"  In  this  case,"  she  thought,  "  it  will  matter 
much,"  but  she  did  not  say  so. 
She  only  said,  in  a  slightly  careless  tone ; 
"  I  am  going  out  on  some  rather  important 
business  this  morning,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
leave  you  again  alone  ;  but  this  morning  you 
will  have  the  free  run  of  my  suite  of  rooms. 
There  is  one  at  the  end  which  adjoins  the  li- 
brary ;  I  should  advise  you  to  select  that  in 
which  to  pass  your  time  ;  you  will  find  much 
within  it  to  amuse  you.   On  my  return,  I  shall 
be  able  to  show  you,  I  quite  anticipate,  a  mar- 
riage-certificate in  which  you  will  see  your 
real  name  set  down." 

As  she  concluded,  she  rose  up  and  quitted 
the  room,  without  uttering  another  word. 

Floret  thought  her  conduct  rather  strange, 
and  she  began  to  find  her  situation  in  this  sin- 
gular mansion,  SD  superbly  furnished,  and  so 
dull  and  silent  as  it  was,  irksome. 

She  quietly  resolved  that  if  the  Countess 
failed  that  day  to  keep  her  promises,  that  she 
would  stay  no  longer  within  it,  but  return  to 
her  quiet  home  and  her  old  resolution  to  live 
alone  somewhere,  unnoticed  and  unknown. 

While  pursuing  this  train  of  thought,  she 
wandered  slowly  to  the  room  to  which  the 
Countess  had  directed  her.  She  found  it  full 
of  articles  of  vertu,  books,  paintings,  statuary, 
portfolios  of  engravings— it  is  impossible  to 
enumerate  what  was  to  be  there  met  with. 

With  pleasure  at  finding  such  a  store  of 
amusement,  she  closed  the  door  and  seated 
herself  by  the  side  of  a  portfolio  of  engrav- 
ings. ^ 

While  deeply  engaged  in  looking  over  them 
she  heard  some  one  enter  the  room. 

She  looked  up  and  saw  a  pale,  handsome, 
aristocratic- looking  gentleman  enter  with  a 
slow  step,  and  a  thoughtful  expression  upon 
his  face. 

It  was  clear  that  he  did  not  perceive  her  as 
he  advanced  into  the  room,  and  she,  therefore 
rose  up  to  receive  him. 

A  strong  light  fell  upon  her  face  and  the 
upper  part  of  her  dress,  and  displayed  both  to 
great  advantage. 

He  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress  OB  she 
moved,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  her. 

He  instantly  staggered  back  several  steps, 
he  caught  at  a  chair  to  support  him,  his  face 
became  a  livid  white,  he  gasped  for  breath ;  at 
length,  with  a  groan,  he  cried : 
"  My  God !  Constance  I" 


112 


EAGAR  LOT ; 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
•"  And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace 
Of  finer  form  or  lovelier  face. 

*       *       *       *       *       *       * 
What,  though  no  nrie  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mocd  had  train'd  her  pace, 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Near  from  the  heath- flower  dash'd  the  dov. 

She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed  ; 
Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  iye 
That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly." 

— Sooft. 

Floret,  as  Boon  as  she  had  fairly  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  face  and  form  of  the  Earl, 
guessed  who  it  was  that  stood  before  her. 

His  finely- formed  feature?,  delicate  complex- 
ion, and  patrician  mien  enabled  her  to  readily 
recognize  him,  although  she  did  not  remember 
to  have  seen  him  before ;  and  there  was  no 
one  at  hand  to  present  him  to  her  by  name. 

She  had  heard  his  name  mentioned,  but  only 
incidentally,  by  the  Countess,  and  then  in  such 
a  tcne  and  in  such  terms  as  to  make  her  com- 
prehend that  they  were  not  living  together  on 
amicable  terms. 

It  had  not,  although  it  was  not  unnatural 
that  it  should  do  so,  occurred  to  her  that  it 
was  probable  she  would  encounter  him  during 
her  stay  in  his  princely  mansion ;  she  was, 
therefore,  quite  unprepared  for  the  interview, 
and  at  a  loss  what  reason  to  give  to  him,  should 
he  ask  her  what  was  the  object  of  her  visit  to 
Brackleigh  House. 

She  rose  from  her  seat  in  some  embarrass- 
ment ;  and  her  confusion  was  not  lessened  by 
his  singular  exclamation,  and  his  very  palpa- 
ble excitement ;  nor  was  her  composure  in  any 
degree  restored  when,  advancing  hastily,  he 
gazed  with  unqualified  amazement  in  her  face. 

She  perceived  that  his  steadfast  examination 
of  her  features  proceeded  neither  from  simple 
ouriosity,  nor  from  mere  admiration  of  her 
beauty  ;  but  that  it  was  rather  the  consequence 
of  an'impreseion  that  he  had  beheld  her  coun 
tenanee  on  a  previous  occasion,  and  in  some 
other  place. 

She  ran  her  eye  over  his  features,  too.  She 
could  not  help  doing  it.  They  were  certainly 
not  familiar  to  her ;  yet,  strangely  enough,  she 
had  a  vague  notion  that  she  had  seen  them  be- 
fore, though  she  had  not  the  faintest  idea 
where. 

This  fancy  was  not  calculated  to  reassure 
her ;  because  she  reflected,  that  if  ever  they  had 
met  before,  it  must  have  been  when  she  was 
with  Daddy  Windy ;  and  if  he  recognized  her 
from  having  seen  her  on  some  such  occasion 
as  Ascot  Races,  his  astonishment  at  seeing  her, 
dressed  as  she  then  was,  and  occupying  the 
position  of  a  guest  at  hia  residence,  was  ex- 
tremely natural. 

Another  reflection,  following  with  equal  ra- 
pidity, induced  her  to  think  that  she  was  wrong 
in  her  supposition.  The  name  of  Constance 
had  fallen  from  his  lipa  as  though  it  belonged 
to  her.  Now,  she  had  never  heard  any  one  call 
her  by  it,  or  intimate  that  ehe  had  any  claim 
to  it ;  and  therefore  the  proper  inference  for  her 


to  draw  was,  that  he  mistook  her  for  some  oth- 
er person,  whose  presence  in  his  mansion  gave 
him  just  grounds  for  amazement. 

That  she  felt  any  emotion,  or  had  any  parti- 
cle of  what  is  termed  natural  instinct  to  tell 
her  that  the  man  who  confronted  her  was  her 
father,  we  are  not  prepared  to  assert.  The  or- 
ganization of  woman  is  always  fine,  and  sus- 
ceptible to  external  impressions  more  quickly 
and  more  keenly  than  that  of  man  ;  but  it 
would  be  something  too  much  to  say  that  Flor« 
et  felfc  any  inward  promptings  that  she  was 
standing  in  the  presence  of  a  parent,  althorph 
nothing  had  transpired  to  lead  her  to  conceive 
that  he  was  other  than  a  perfect  stranger  to 
her. 

She  felt  perturbed,  and  trembled,  because 
she  knew— a';  least  believed— herself  to  be 
standing  in  the  presence  of  an  Earl,  without 
having,  should  he  aueation  her  upon  the  point, 
any  explanation  to'offer  for  being  there,  save 
that  she  was  invited  to  the  house  by  the  Count- 
ess, in  order  that  she  might  inspect  a  docu- 
ment relative  to  her  birth. 

This  was  an  explanation  which,  if  she  ten- 
dered him,  she  felt  would  place  her  in  an  awk- 
ward predicament,  and  would  lead  to  a  series 
of  interrogatories  that  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  painful  to  her  ;  and  she  now  wished  that 
she  had  not  been  quite  so  hasty  in  accepting 
the  invitation  of  the  Countess,  or  that,  on  find- 
ing the  certificate,  which  she  had  come  there 
specially  to  see,  was  not  forthcoming,  she  had 
returned  to  Pimlico. 

It  was  too  late  now ;  the  Earl  was  before  her, 
and  was  looking  upon  her  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tified bewilderment,  which  seemed  to  increase 
the  more  he  gazed  upon  her. 

Unable  to  endure  his  eager,  searching  in- 
spection of  her  features,  sho  dropped  her  eyes 
upon  the  carpet,  and  remained  silent  and  mo- 
tionless. 

At  length,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  he  ex- 
olaimed,  in  an  undertone  : 

"I  am  amazed,  confounded,  perplexed  be- 
yond expression.  It  is  no  phantom  I  see  be- 
fore me.  Yet — What,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
does  it  —can  it — mean  ?  Who— what  are  you  ? 
Why  are  you  here  ?  Speak !" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  ;  a  strange  thrill 
ran  tnrough  her  veins  as  she  met  a  look,  so 
piercing  it  seemed  as  though  it  would  pene- 
trate to  the  recesses  of  her  brain,  and  read 
there  her  most  latent  thoughts. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  reply.  She  was 
not  prepared  to  utter  an  untruth ;  she  was  loth 
to  state  t  ;e  truth ;  she  felt  embarrassed  and 
distressed ;  and  she  sought  refuge  in  silence. 

He  repeated  his  questions  yet  more  earnest- 

[7- 

"Pardon  me,"  he  added;  "it  is  no  com- 
mon inquisitiveness  which  induces  me  thus  to 
to  question  you  ;  but  it  is  for  reasons  which 
are  even  more  startling  to  myself  than  they, 
perhaps,  would  be  to  you,  if  I  were  to  commu- 
nicate them." 

Floret  still  remained  silent.  Her  pride  re- 
volted at  the  idea  of  acknowledging  herself  to 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


113 


be  something  meaner  than  a  merely  obscure 
individual ;  and  yet  she  scorned  to  even  inti- 
mate that  which  was  not  true.  She  had  no  al- 
ternative but  silence. 

"I  assume  that  you  are  upon  a  visit  to 
the  Countess,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  con- 
tinued, in  soft,  mellow  tones  ;  "  but  I  have  the 
misfortune  not  to  have  been  informed  of  the 
pleasure  you  are  conferring  upon  the  Count- 
ess, and,  I  hope,  myself.  I  am  ignorant,  there- 
fore, of  the  title  of  the  lady  in  whose  presence 
I  have  the  honor  to  be.  As  there  is  no  one  by 
to  formally  introduce  us,  permit  me  to  inform 
you  that  I  am  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  to 
hopa  that  you  will  repose  a  similar  confidence 
in  me." 

He  paused,  and  awaited  her  answer. 

Twice  or  thrice  she  essayed  to  speak;  but 
the  words  would  not  come  forth.  She  remem- 
bered the  injunction  of  the  Countess  to  use  a 
name  which  was  strange  to  her,  and  to  wkich 
she  believed  that  she  had  no  title ;  but  she  did 
not  like  to  say  that  her  name  was  Floret,  and 
no  other  with  which  ahe  was  acquainted. 

The  Earl  wis  evidently  surprised  and  dis- 
concerted by  her  continued  silence — it  added 
to  the  mystery  which  surrounded  her,  and  he 
said,  at  length,  gravely,  bul  somewhat  impa- 
tiently : 

"  In  plain  language,  Madam,  I  request  you 
to  favor  me  with  your  name  ?" 

Floret's  pride  was  set  in  motion  by  his  sud- 
den cold  and  haughty  tone.  A  crimson  flush 
suffused  her  forehead  and  cheeks. 

"  My  name  is  Edith,"  she  said,  with  a  voice 
and  bearing  as  haughty  as  his  own. 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and, 
laying  his  finger  gently  upon  her  wrist,  he  said, 
rapid  ly : 

"  Yes,  Edith— Edith  what  ?" 

"  Plantagenet !"  she  said,  without  pausing 
to  reflect — said  it  with  a  peculiar  curl  of  acorn 
moving  her  upper  lip. 

He  uttered  a  cry,  staggered  back,  and  sank 
upon  a  seat. 

He  pressed  her  hand  upon  his  temples,  and 
gazed  wildly  upon  her. 

A  string  of  frenzied  thoughts  rushed 
through  his  brain. 

"Almighty  heaven!"  he  f  jaculated ;  "the 
name,  the  extraordinary  resemblance,  cannot 
be  &  mere  accident!  That  ia  impossible  ;  but 
yet,  who  can  this  girl  be  ?" 

"  Tell  me,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  which 
trembled  in  every  accent ;  "  are  you  of  the 
Plantagenets  of— of  Hyde  Park— of  Dorset- 
shire—Wiltshire— I  mean  of  the  family  of 
Pierrepoiat  Piantagenet,  of  Plantagenet  House  ? 
Speak,  I  conjure  you!" 

]  "  I — I — do  not — do  not  know !"  she  answer- 
ed, with  a  faltering  tongue,  and  shrinking  back 
in  confusion. 

"  Do  not  know !"  he  repeated,  with  amaze- 
ment. "  Surely,  you  must  know  from  whom 
you  have  sprung !  You  must  be  of  the  family 
I  have  named.  Your  resemblance  to — " 

"  The  Marchioness  of  Weatcbester,  nee.  Con- 
stance Plantageuet,  ia  remarkable— is  it  not, 


Brackleigh  ?'?  exclaimed  a  voice  close  to  their.. 
They  both  turned  oharply  in  the  direction 
of  the  speaker. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  stood  within  a 
few  feet  of  them. 

She  had  entered  the  room  tmpereeived.  She 
had,  no  doubt,  placed  herself  in  some  part  of 
the  room  where  she  could  not  be  seen  by  those 
within  it,  and  she  emerged  from  it  at  what  she 
supposed  to  be  an  opportune  moment. 

She  was,  however,  premature.  The  Earl 
g?anced  at  her  face.  He  saw  upon  it  an  ex- 
pression of  malicious  triumph  and  vindictive 
bitterness.  He  took  alarm — his  guilty  con- 
science was  ever  ready  with  unpleasant  sug- 
gestions— he  instantly  became  frigid  in  hig 
demeanor,  and  replied,  with  a&suiued  calm- 
ness : 

"Yes,  Lady  Brackleigh,  this  young  lady 
does  resemble  the  Marchionees — at  least,  so 
far  as  my  memory  serves  me ;  it  is  so  very 
long  since  I  sa^  her — " 

"A  week  or  ten  days  at  the  very  least, 
Brackleigh,"  interposed  the  Countess,  with  a 
curling  lip. 

"  Possibly,"  he  returned,  playing  with  hi« 
moustache  ;  "  it  fatigues  one's  memory  to  go 
back  to  a  longer  distance  of  time." 

"  Still  your  lordship  perceives  the  great  re- 
semblance between  this  young  lady  and  the 
Marchioness  of  Westchester  ?"  urged  the 
Countess. 

"The  Marchioness  of  Westchester !"  re- 
peated Floret,  mentally,  a  dozen  times.  "  I 
shall  not  forget  that  name." 

"I  do  perceive  a  likeness,  certainly,"  re- 
turned the  Earl,  coldly  ;  "  but  I  do  not  think 
there  is  anything  extremely  marvelous  in  such 
a  coincidence.  The  young  lady  has  informed 
me  th^t  she  is  a  Plantagenet,  which  would 
account  for  the  resemblance.  That  fact  will, 
I  presume,  account  for  her  presence  here. 
She  is  a  protegee  of  your  ladyship's,  I  ean  easily 
guess." 

"  Why,  my  Lord  ?"  inquired  the  Countess, 
drvlv. 

"  Oh,  you  have  for  years  possessed  an  ex- 
traordinary infatuation  with  regard  to  that 
family,"  he  returned,  with  en  attempt  at  sar- 
casm. "  Had  our  sexes  been  reversed,  I  should 
have  been  extremely  jealous  of  the  Marchion- 
ess of  Westcheeter,  your  ladyship  has  dis- 
played for  such  a  lengthened  period  so  great 
an  interest  in  every  matter  with  which  the 
Marchioness  is  connected — I  might  say  an  un- 
dying interest." 

Your  lordship  may  say  with  perfect  truth 
an  undying  interest,"  rejoined  the  Countess, 
emphatically,  "  an  interest  which  will  not  flag 
nor  terminate  until,  at  least,  poetical  justice 
has  been  done." 

•'  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the  Earl,  ' 
looking  her  in  the  face  with  a  penetrating 
gaze.  < 

"  You  will,"  she  responded. 

The  Earl  laughed  sercastically,  and  affect- 
ing an  air  of  indifference,  although  he  felt  by 
uo  means  easy  under  the  allusion,  said : 


114 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


"  I  trust  your  ladyship  will  permit  me  to 
doubt.  I  have  tried  to  understand  you  BO 
long  without  success,  that  I  am  afraid  I  must 
give  it  up  in  despair." 

•«  My  lord,  the  time  for  me  to  apeak  BO  plain- 
ly thot  there  shall  not  be  the  possibility  of  a 
misunderstand  ing  between  us  has  not  yet  ar- 
rived," she  rejoined  ;  "  but  the  time  is  not  far 
distant.  Until  it  does  come,  I  must  content 
myself  with  allusions,  and  your  lordship  must 
be  satisfied  to  cast  about  for  their  meaning." 

"  Really,  your  ladyship  has  played  the  part 
of  the  Sphynx  so  long,  that  it  has— you  must 
excuse  me — become  wearisome,"  interposed 
the  Earl.  "  I  hate  riddles  ;  I  always  did.  I 
do  not  object  to  facts ;  but  they  must  be  facts. 
"When  your  ladyship  condescends  to  speak  so 
very  plainly  as  you  have  intimated  that  you 
will  do,  I  assume  that  every  assertion  will  be 
supported  by  facts — I  shall  be  prepared  to 
meet  them ;  but  until  then  do  not  worry  me 
and  yourself  by  dark  hints  and  mysterious  in- 
eiauations.  They  appear  to  disturb  you,  and 
they  only  incite  my — " 

«'  What,  my  lord  ?"  she  cried,  fiercely,  as  he 
paused. 

44  My  pity  and  a  smile,"  he  replied,  turning 
away  to  quit  the  apartment. 

"With  a  sudden  stamp  of  the  foot,  and  a  ges- 
ture of  extreme  anger,  she  compelled  him  to 
turn  and  look  at  her. 

He  saw  that  her  face  was  as  white  as  marble, 
that  her  eyes  were  glaung  at  him  between  her 
expanded  lids,  and  that  they  were  as  bright  as 
stars.  She  pointed  at  Floret,  who,  overcome 
with  excitement,  wonder,  mystification,  stood 
shrinking  by  a  table,  and  said,  hoarsely.: 

**  Look  well  upon  this  face,  my  lord — this 
young,  pale  f*ce— the  face  of  one  who  has  pass- 
ed through  vicissitudes,  misery,  poverty, 
wretchedness,  and  persecution,  I  might  justly 
say  unexampled.  Look  well  at  it;  think  of  it, 
dream  of  it — think  and  dream  with  it  of  De- 
cember the  fifth,  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  thirty -two,  passed  by  you  in  Brighton. 
You  cannot  forget  how.  Let  me  add  that  this 
young  creature,  upon  whom  you  are  gazing, 
was  born  at  Beachborough,  in  Kent,  toward 
the  elo3e  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty-three.  Now,  my  lord,  pity,  me  still,  if 
yon  will,  and  smile— if  yon  can." 

She  seized  Floret  by  the  wrist,  and  literally 
dragged  her  into  an  inner  chamber,  closing 
the  door  behind  her,  and  locking  it  upon  the 
inside. 

The  Earl  of  Brackle'gh  did  not  attempt  to 
follow  her  ;  he  remained  transfixed  to  the  spot. 
He  was  as  cold  as  ice,  and  seemed  to  be  chang- 
ed into  &tcne. 

He  had  obeyed  her  directions  to  look  well 
at  Floret's  face,  and  in  doing  so,  he  was  struck 
more  forcibly  than  ever  with  her  remarkable 
resemblance  to  Constance  Plantagenet  as  he 
knew  her,  a  young,  lovely  girl,  just  escaping 
from  childhood,  and  while  this  conviction  was 
edttiiog  itaeif  in  his  mind,  he  heard  that  mem- 
orable date,  which,  whatever  else  had  gone,  had 
never  faded  from  his  memory. 


"The  fifth  of  December,  eighteen  hundred 
and  thirty-two  1" 

"  This  youcg  creature  upon  whom  you  are 
gazing  was  born  at  Beachborough,  in  Kent,, 
toward  the  close  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred 
and  thirty  three !" 

While  these  words  were  passing  like  fiery 
particles  through  his  brain,  he  remembered, 
that  Constance  was  down  at  Beachborough  in 
the  first  year  of  their  secret  marriage,  and  that 
while  there  she  was  very  ill. 

That  memory  was  startlingly  suggestive. 

At  the  same  time,  out  of  the  storehouse  of 
his  memory,  came  the  remembrance  of  the 
child  at  Ascot — the  child,  too,  whom  his  wife, 
afterward  had  for  a  time  adopted,  and  who  had 
been  ill  of  a  fever  in  that  very  house.  Were 
they  and  the  young  girl  he  had  just  seen  one 
and  the  same  person  ? 

And  if  so,  was  she — could  she  be  a  daughter 
of  Constance,  his  wife,  and  therefore  hia  child, 
too? 

Hia  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat,  he  felt  as 
though  his  emotion  would  suffocate  him.  All 
hi*  life  he  had  an  ambition  to  have  a  child.  If 
he  had  known  that  Constance  had  been  deliv- 
ered at  Beachborough  of  a  child  in  secret,  no 
earthly  consideration  would  have  withheld  him 
from  proclaiming  their  marriage  to  the  world. 
His  latent  passion  for  Constance  wanted  but 
that  spark  to  have  set  it  in  a  blaze,  and  to  have 
kept  it  burning  brightly. 

Something  to  love  and  to  cherish,  which 
should  prove  equally  a  tie  to  draw  both  closer 
together,  was  all  that  he  needed  to  have  made 
him  twine  his  arms  about  his  true  wife,  and 
defy  Fate  itself  to  part  them. 

Alas  !  for  both,  their  connection  being  clan- 
destine, they  met  only  seldom,  and  in  eecret ; 
both  acted  in  public  aa  though  thay  were 
scarcely  acquainted,  and  many  temptations  to 
which  the  then  viscount,  being  a  young  and 
handsome  man,  was  subjected,  mads  him  imag- 
ine that  an  affection  which  circumstances  had 
but  rendered  dormant  had  glided  into  indiffer- 
ence. 

All  was  changed  now.  His  love  had  come 
back  upon  him.  Years  had  but  rendered  it 
more  ardent,  and  he  was  still  engaged  in  the 
endeavor  to  obtain  with  Constance  a  secret 
and  lengthened  interview.  He  had  no  doubt, 
if  he  succeeded,  that  he  should  prevail  upon 
her  to  fly  with  him  to  some  region  far  away 
from  England,  where,  unknown,  they  could 
live  in  security  and  happiness  upon  that  love 
which  they  had  both  so  heedlessly  cast  away 
when  they  might  have  enjoyed  it,  not  only 
with  felicity,  but  with  honor. 

He  had  refrained  for  the  last  two  years  from 
attempting  to  meet  her  in  public,  and  appear- 
ing there  to  annoy  her.  He  had  no  desire,  for 
her  sake,  to  set  the  tongue  of  scandal  in  ac- 
tion, and  he  did  not  wish  to  provoke  a  hostile 
meeting  with  the  Marquis.  He  knew  that  the 
latter,  from  some  cause  or  other,  suspected 
him  of  having  an  illicit  attachment  for  the 
Marchioness,  and  was  ever  ready  whenever 
they  encountered  each  other,  aa  rare  as  the 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


115 


occasions  were,  to  fasten  a  quarrel  upon  him  ; 
but  he  avoided  giving  him  the  opportunity, 
for  he  had  a  preeentiment  that  if  they  did  ever 
have  a  meetieg,  it  would  be  a  deadly  one.  He 
could  answer  at  least  for  his  own  fixed  resolve 
upon  that  point 

To  add  to  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  upon 
the  matter,  there  now  came  the  startling  sug- 
gestion that  he  was  the  fcther  of  a  grown-up 
child,  and  that  he  had  a  few  minutes  previous- 
ly seen  her  for  the  first  time. 

The  more  he  reflected,  and  thoughts  rushed 
like  lightning  through  his  brain,  the  more  cer- 
tain he  became  that  Floret  was  his  child.  Her 
age,  the  pjace  of  her  birth,  her  name,  and, 
above  all,  her  remarkable  resemblance  to  Con- 
stance, assured  him  that,  it  must  be  so. 

If  eo,  where  had  she  been  aince  her  birth? 
—in  whose  hands? — how  brought  up  ? 

He  turned  faint  and  cold.  The  Countess  had 
spoken  of  vicissitudes,  misery,  poverty,  wretch- 
edness, and  persecution,  What  might  that 
comprehend  ? 

His  pride  took  fright.  She  was,  if  his  child, 
and  he  had  scarcely  a  doubt  of  it,  the  daugh- 
ter of  an  earl,  and  had  been. — Heaven  alone 
knew  what. 

How  sick  at  heart  he  felt. 

He  thought  of  the  beggar-child  at  Ascot 
Races,  with  a  wreath  round  her  head,  and  e ell- 
ing  flowers. 

His  child ! 

The  child  of  Constance,  by  her  present  title 
Marchionees  of  Westchester,  by  her  right 
Countess  of  Braekleigh,  selling  flowers,  a 
child-beggar,  upon  a  race-course. 

The  thought  was  maddening  to  him.  "What 
could  he  do  if  it  were  to  be  proved  to  him  that 
Floret  was  hia  child  ?  Could  he  recognize  her, 
though  his  heart  would  yearn,  leap,  to  press 
her  to  hia  bosom  and  call  her  his  own  dar- 
ling? 

Yet,  if  Constance  had  become  a  mother 
•while  staying  at  Beachborough,  what  was  her 
motive  for  concealing  from  him  the  fact  that 
she  had  had  a  child  ? 

There  was  something  so  strange  and  mys- 
terious in  this,  that  he  could  not  find  a  solu- 
tion for  it ;  but  he  determined  to  obtain  one. 
H«  resolved  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis,  for 
the  time  had  evidently  come  now. 

The  Countess — how,  he  could  not  surmise — 
evidently  knew  all,  for  she  had  so  significant- 
ly, after  mentioning  the  date  of  his  marriage 
with  Constance,  requested  his  pity.  He  had 
no  doubt  that  she  had  some  scheme  on  foot 
which,  if  he  suffered  her  to  bring  to  maturity, 
might  secure  to  her  some  great  revenge  and 
ruin  him.  Not  only  ruin  him,  but  might  so 
compromise  Constance  as  to  figuratively  de- 
stroy her ;  it  must,  therefore,  it  was  evident, 
be  his  first  task  to  forestall  her  plans,  by  tak- 
ing prompt  action  himself. 

That  action  must  be,  at  every  hazard,  to  ob- 
tain an  interview  with  Constance.  It  was  a 
difficult  task,  for  she  appeared  to  be  ever  on 
the  alert  to  dicover  his  arrangements  to  secure 
an  interview  witli  her  and  to  defeat  them.  His 


motives,  however,  both  for  lier  sake  and  hia 
own,  were  so  strong,  that  risks  he  had  previous- 
ly declined  to  incur  he  now  determined  to  haz- 
e,rd  ;  and  with  this  intention  he  hastened  to  big 
study. 

He  rang  a  bell  for  Nat,  who  appeared  very 
promptly,  and  with  a  peculiar  smirk  upon  his 
face. 

Before  the  Earl  could  speak,  Nat  exclaim- 
ed, with  a  knowing  wink : 

**  It's  all  right  this  time,  my  Lord !" 

"  What  is  all  right?"  he  asked,  sternly. 

"Me  an'  that  party,  my  Lord  1"  returned 
Nat,  with  a  wink  of  the  eye. 

'•I  am  in  so  humor  for  any  foolery  I"  ex- 
claimed the  Earl,  sharply.  "  1  have  some  par- 
ticular instructions  to  give  you,  and  you  will, 
therefore,  be  wise  if  you  keep  a  silent  tongue, 
and  listen  to  me  very  attentively." 

"  I  axes  your  pardon,  my  Lord,"  returned 
Nat,  with  a  determined  air,  but  yet  with  a  per- 
sistency that  would  not  be  denied,  although 
he  perceived  that  the  Earl  was  in  no  mood 
to  be  trifled  with ;  "  but  I've  just  seen  that 

P  "  What  party,  fool?"  cried  the  Earl,  impa- 
tiently. 

"Vy,  my  Lord,  Fane,  the  Marchioness's 
vaiting-maid,"  returned  Nat. 

"Ha!"  cried  the  Earl,  quickly;  "  what  did 
she  say  ?" 

"  Vy,  my  Lord,  ve  met  permiskus,  as  I 
might  say,"  answered  Nat,  rubbing  his  chin 
with  his  right  hand.  "  A&'  a  thought  struck: 
me,  vich  I  acted  on.  I  had  &  party  vith  dark 
ringlets  in  my  hi'  as  the  fust  Mrs.  Ferret,  but 
she  didn't  vait  for  me,  but  married  a  slaught- 
erman, doin',  I  believe,  a  good  stroke  o'  busi- 
ness, vich  1  tock  rayther  to  'art,  because  I  voa 
deeply  wovzd  vith  them  ringlets,  and  a  scream- 
in — " 

"  What  the  devil  is  all  this  rubbish  to  me  ?" 
cried  tie  ttarl,  eagerly. 

"  Ofily  jest  then,"  rejoined  Nat,  hastily,  for 
he  saw  danger  in  the  sparkling  of  the  Earl's 
eyoa,  "  that  when  I  saw  Fane  to-day,  I  sez  to 
myself, '  I'll  make  her  an  offer  to  be  Mrs.  Fer- 
ret number  one,  an'  if  she  consents  to  my 
propersition,  vy  sh.3'11  jest  tell  me  how  my  Lord 
can  drop  upon  the  Marchioness  vhen  she  can't 
give  'im  the  slip." 

"  Capital !"  cried  the  Earl,  hastily;  "you 
proposed,  and  she  accepted  you?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  replied  Nat,  rubbing  his 
hands;  "and — " 

"  The  Marchioness !  tell  me  only  of  ier!" 
he  cried,  eagerly. 

"  Vanders  of  a  heveniu'  up  an'  down  dawn 
the  flower-gardiog  and  shady  valks  at  the  back 
of  Vestchester  House,  vich  'ere  is  the  key  on 
it,"  said  Nat,  holding  up  a  small  bright  latch- 
key- ,t 

The  Earl  snatched  it  from  him. 

"  About  what  time  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Atween  eight  and  nine,  my  Lord,  in  the 
dux  of  the  hevenin',"  he  answered. 

The  clock  was  tolling  the  hour  of  nine,  and 
the  Earl,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  stood  in  the  eha- 


116 


HAGAR  LOT  : 


dow  of  a  thick  herbaceous  tree  in  the  gar- 
dens of  Weatc heater  House,  silent  and  mo- 
tionless. 

He  had  heen  in  the  same  spot  just  one  hour 
without  hearing  a  leaf  fall,  but  his  patience 
was  at  length  rewarded  by  the  sound  of  a 
light  and  stealthy  step  moving  toward  him. 

As  it  reached  the  spot  where  he  was  stand- 
ing, he  moved  apace  forward,  and  discovered 
the  form  of  a  woman  before  him,  though  she, 
too,  was  shrouded  by  a  cloak. 

He  clutched  at  her  hand,  and  caught  her  by 
the  wriet ;  the  hood  of  her  cloak  fell  from 
her  head,  and  disclosed  the  features  of  Hagar 
Lot. 

She  gazed  upon  her  detainer  with  gleaming 
ayes,  which  seemed  to  flash  with  fire,  and  in 
low,  but  clear,  distinct,  and  bitter  tones,  she 
exclaimed  : 

"  So,  my  Lord,  as  the  day  of  reckoning  sure- 
ly comes  to  us  all,  we  meet  at  last." 

The  Earl  staggered  back  a  step ;  a  groan 
escaped  his  lips,  and  he  would  have  fled,  but 
that,  in  her  turn,  she  caught  him  by  the  wrist 
2nd  detained  him. 

CHAPTElTxXVIII. 

**  Let  me  wring  your  heart;  for  so    shall, 
If  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stuff ; 
If  damned  custom  have  not  braz'd  it  so, 
That  it  is  proof  and  bulwark  against  sense." 
"  What  have  I  done,  that  thou  dar'st  wag  thy  tongue 
la  noise  so  rude  against  me  ?" 

*          *          *          "  Such  an  act 
That  blura  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty  ; 
Calls  virtue  hypocrite  ;  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the  fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love. 
And  seta  a  blister  here."  —  SHAKESPEARE, 

The  Earl  of  Brackleigh  was  unquestionably 
greatly  agitated  by  hh  unexpected  rencontre 
with  Hagar  Lot. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  disturbed  by  discov- 
ering that,  instead  of  standing  face  to  face 
with  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester,  he  was 
confronted  by  a  gipsy  ;  but  because  he  recog- 
nized that  gipsy,  although  they  had  not  met 
for  many  years. 

There  are  some  kinds  of  faces  which,  once 
seen,  we  never  forget.  Hagar  Lot's  was  a 
countenance  of  that  description.  Years  might 
elapse — she  might  pass  from  girlhood  to  ap- 
proaching old  age— and  yet  her  face  would 
not  undergo  such  change  that  one  who  had 
once  beheld  it  would  fail  to  recognize  after  a 
long  interval  of  separation. 
,  The  Earl  of  Brackleigh  had  not  an  acute, 
HOT  even  a  commonly  good  memory  ;  he  sel- 
dom exercised  it ;  he  considered  it  rather  a 
bore  when  it  acted  independent  of  his  control. 
Disagreeable  events  were  always  the  first  to 
present  themselves,  especially  when  unbid- 
den ;  and  so  many  acts  of  his  past  life  were 
best  forgotten,  that  he  rarely,  if  he  could  help 
it,  permitted  his  mind  to  ramble  in  search  of 
circumstances  whose  resuscitation  afforded  him 
the  very  opposite  emotion  to  exulting  gratifi- 
cation. 

He,  on  finding  that  it  was  not  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Weatchester  who  accosted  him, 
would  very  gladly  have  claimed  the  protec- 


tion of  oblivious  memory  the  moment  hia  eye 
raced  over  the  features  of  the  stern,  gloomy 
gipsy,  and,  offering  her  a  few  pieces  of  money, 
have  passed  on — anywhere,  so  that  it  was  out 
of  )  er  sight.  But  his  memory  was  only  too 
faithful,  onJy  too  vivid ;  he  knew,  at  a  glance, 
who  stood  before  him,  and,  for  a  minute,  he 
could  hardly  keep  himself  from  fainting. 

At  no  time  could  he  have  encountered  this 
remarkable  woman  with  indifference,  or  even 
calmness  or  equanimity  ;  but  here,  within  the 
grounds  of  the  Marquis  of  Westchester,  upon 
which  he  was  himself  a  trespasser — within  he 
knew  not  how  many  yards  of- the  Marchioness, 
of  whom  he  was  in  search,  and  who,  if  any  dis- 
turbance ensued  between  himself  and  this 
woman,  would  be  drawn  to  the  spot — here  the 
meeting  filled  him  with  trepidation ;  and  as 
he  beheld  her,  and  heard  the  low,  distinct,  and 
sonorous  tones  of  her  well-remembered  voice, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  powers  of  sense,  sight,  hear- 
ing, life  itself,  were  being  drawn  swiftly  from 
him. 

Hagar  perceived  how  much  her  unlooked- 
for  presence  agitated  him.  She  saw  hia 
blanched  cheek,  his  shrunken  eyelid,  and  hia 
tottering  step — a  gleam  of  fierce  exultation 
shot  from  her  eyes. 

"  Well  met,!  say  once  more,  my  Lord!"  «he 
exclaimed,  as  she  observed  him  endeavor  to 
master  his  quivering  emotion.  "  I  perceive 
that  you  recognize  me.  I  see  that  you  recall 
my  features  with  a  sickening  sense  of  shame 
and  of  fear.  I  do  not  marvel  at  your  confu- 
sion, nor  at  your  palpaple  terror.  I  know 
your  errand  here,  and  I,  too,  feel  that  it  would 
be  a  most  unpalatable  situation  for  you  to  be 
compelled  to  listen  to  the  unsparing  remarks 
upon  your  conduct  to  me,  which  I  shall  hare 
to  make,  knowing  that  ears,  which  for  worlds 
you  would  not  have  catch  my  observations, 
are  drinking  in  every  word.  It  is  fit  that  you, 
who  never  felt  for  others,  should  now  suffer 
on  your  own  account." 

*'  A — a — if  you  desire — a — to  have — an  in- 
terview wi — wi — with  me — a— I  will  grant  you 
one — a — but  not  now — not  here,7'  stammered 
the  Earl,  yet  speaking  rapidly. 
She  waved  her  hand. 

"Here,  and  now  I"  she  returned,  with  stern 
and  deliberate  emphasis.  «•  I  have  much  to 
eay  to  you.  The  time  for  my  address  to  you 
has  come.  We  could  have  selected  no  better 
place  for  it." 

"But,"  urged  the  Earl,  hastily,  "you  do 
not^now,  perhaps,  that  I  have  no  right  to  be 
here-npthat  I  am  trespassing — that,  if  discov- 
ered ^ero  by  the  sound  of  voices  in  conversa- 
tion, that  discovery  will  be  followed  by  my 
instant  expulsion— nay,  in  all  human  proba- 
bility, by  something  much  worse." 

"  How  worse?  Explain  yourself,  my  Lord 
Brackleigh,"  she  observed,  coldly,  as  she 
gazed  steadfastly  at  him. 

"  Hush !"  he  rejoined,  raising  his  hand  with 
a  gesture  of  caution.  "Do  not  repeat  my 
name  in  such  loud  tones ;  by  BO  doing,  you 
only  precipitate  events." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


117 


<;To  waat  do  you  allude?"  she  said,  in  a 
half- sarcastic,  half-savage  tone. 

"  Bloodshed !"  he  responded,  emphatically. 

"Whose? — yours?"  she  rejoined,  instantly, 
with  a  eneer. 

"  Or  that  cf  others  !"  he  answered,  sharply, 
as  though  etung  by  her  sneering  tone. 

"  Ay  1"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  short  laugh, 
which  made  his  blood  run  cold.  "  Murder  !— 
that  is  usually  the  goal  to  which  we  wade 
through  crimes  such  es  you  hare  committed. 

She  paused  abruptly,  although  she  was 
about  to  append  something  to  that  remark  ; 
and  he  took  the  opportunity  to  again  urge 
upon  her  the  propriety  of  their  meeting  in 
some  place  lees  calculated  to  be  dangerous  to 
them  both. 

•«  It  is  not  dangerous  to  me,"  she  returned, 
quickly.  "  You  beet  know  how  dangerous  it 
is  to  you,  and  wherefore.  Lei  me  add,  that 
it  is  my  intention  not  to  permit  your  conven- 
ience to  interfere  with  mine.  Your  wishes 
have  been  too  often  deferred  to  by  me  ;  it  is 
my  turn  now." 

"  What  if  I  will  not  listen  to  you  ?"  he  said, 
gloomily. 

"You  shall— you  must,"  she  rejoined, 
Slowly,  and  with  a  strong  emphasis  upon  th 
last  word.  4<  If  you  were  to  attempt  to  qui 
me  now,  I  would  summon  the  people  of  th 
Marquis  of  Westchester,  and  denounce  you. 
know  the  purport  of  your  visit  here.  I  would 
reveal  it" 

"  What !  if  I  dared  even  that,  rather  than 
remain  here  alone  with  you,  tD  hear  what  I 
have  no  difficulty  in  surmising  that  you  pur- 
pose saying  to  me— complaints  which  will 
gain  you  nothing,  and  will  do  mischief  to 
others  whom  you  can  have  no  interest  in  in- 
juring." 

"  You  have  but  to  dare  it  to  find  that  all  I 
intend  to  pour  into  your  ear  while  alone  with 
me  shall  be  delivered  before  a  most  attentive 
audience,  well  provided  with  ct  altering 
tongues,"  she  replied,  promptly.  "  Let  me, 
however,  advise  you,  before  you  determine 
upon  the  course  you  will  pursue,  that  though 
you  may  surmise  something  which  is  likely  to 
fall  from  my  lips — your  guilty  conscience  will 
enable  you  to  do  that — you  have  no  concep- 
tion of  much  that  I  intend  to  reveal  to  you. 
Much  that,  if  you  have  one  spark  of  human 
feeling  or  sympathy  for  others  than  yourself, 
will  make  you  wince  like  a  beaten  hound  under 
the  lash.  I  may  add,  that  as  I  expect  nothing 
from  you,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  seek  to  gain 
anything  from  you ;  and  if  I  should  fall  into  a 
complaining  tone,  there  will  be  nothing  to  fol- 
low calculated  to  bring  down  miechief  on  any 
one  but  myself,  perhaps." 

"I  suppose  that  the  shortest  and  simplest 
plan  will  be  to  run  all  risks,  and  hear  what  it 
is  you  may  have  to  reveal,  and  of  which  I  have 
EO  conception,"  he  observed,  after  a  minute's 
eilent  reflection.  "  I  must  suggest  that  you 
will  be  speedy  hi  making  your  communication 
to  me  ;  for  if  we  should  be  interrupted,  as  I 
strongly  suspect  we  eh  all  before  our  conference 


is  half  over,  I  must  peremptorily  decline  to  re- 
new or  repeat  it  in  any  form." 

"  You  may  be  an  English  earl,  and,  there- 
fore, in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  an  honorable 
gentleman  ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
you  cannot  fail  to  appear  a  heartless,  execrable 
villain!"  she  exclaimed,  with  intense  bitter- 
ness and  scorn.  "  But  let  me  bid  you  beware 
how  you  contemn  me.  Man,  you  cannot  for- 
get the  promise  I  made  to  yon  when  last  we 
parted,  or  the  curse  which  I  called  down  upon 
your  head — the  curse  has  been  working  slow- 
ly and  surely.  It  rests  in  some  degree  with 
yourself,  whether  the  promise  be  fulfilled  or 
not." 

"  You  mistake  me,"  he  cried,  a  little  eager- 
ly, on  having  the  promise  recalled  to  his  mem- 
ory. "  I  do  not  contemn  you.  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  doing  BO.  I  simply  suggest  to  you 
that  it  will  not  be  poesible— it  would  be  most 
unwise — to  repeat  an  interview  which  can  only 
waken  up  memories  painful  to  both — memories 
which  now  had  far  better  be  dormant  until 
death  removes  us  ;  and  which,  while  it  can 
produce  you  no  benefit,  will  be  singularly  dis- 
advantageous to  me." 

"  We  will  provide  for  the  difficulty  when  the 
emergency  arrives,"  responded  Hagar,  mood- 
ily. "  At  present,  we  are  alone,  and  for  a  time 
shall  continue  so.  I  have  told  you  that  I  knew 
of  your  coming,  and  the  motive  which  has  con- 
ducted you  hither.  This  meeting  between  us 
is  not  an  accident.  I  contrived  that  it  should 
take  place.  Now,  my  Lord  Brackleigh,  are 
you  prepared  to  listen  patiently  to  what  I  have 
to  say,  or  to  find  yourself  within  a  minute 
from  this  time  in  the  custody  of  the  servants 
of  your  good  friend,  the  Marquis  of  Westches- 
ter?" 

The  Earl  frowned  until  his  eyes  were  hidden 
by  his  brows. 

44  Proceed,"  he  said,  with  resumed  coldness, 
in  reply,  and  turned  partly  from  her,  so  that 
she  could  not,  without  a  direct  movement, 
watch  the  working  of  his  features  while  he  was 
speaking. 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  recur  to  some  por- 
tion of  coy  past  life,"  she  commenced,  speak- 
ing slowly,  and  enunciating  her  words  with  a 
marked  emphasis.  "  I  shall  do  this  with  the 
intention  of  keeping  the  connection  between  all 
the  parts  of  my  communication  to  you  un- 
broken. Your  memory,  too,  my  Lord,  is  de- 
fective ;  and  it  will  be  necessary  to  remind  you 
of  some  events,  that  you  may  the  more  fully 
and  completely  comprehend  the  relation  which  * 
others  will  bear  to  them."  j| 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  forget  any  of  the  ? 
circumstances  to  which  you  are  likely  to  al-  j 
hide,"  he  interposed,  a  little  fretfully. 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  Lord,"  she  re-  f 
plied ;  "  but  you  may  think  it  convenient  to  ' 
appear  to  do  so.    I  shall  take  care  that  you  do 
not.    When  you  first  met  me,  my  Lord,  you 
found  me  moving  in  the  society  of  those  whose 
rank  in  their  own  land  surpassed  yours  in  this 
country.    They  were  emigrants  in  political 
exile,  it  is  true ;  but  they  were  not  the  less 


118 


HAGAIl  LOT  ; 


noble  in  blood  and  exalted  in  station,  although 
here  they  lived  in  a  less  unostentatious  fash- 
ion than  when  at  home  in  the  fertile  hills  and 
vales  of  eunny  South.  They  were  received  in 
the  highest  circles,  and  they  were  justly  en- 
titled to  the  respect  no  less  than  the  considera- 
tion of  those  whom  they  admitted  to  their 
homes.  You  were  introduced  to  me  as  a  Vis- 
count ;  I  to  you  as  the  daughter  of  a  Count  of 
Spain.  We  met  upon  a  par,  and  we  treated 
each  other  aa  equals.  You  see  tie  in  the 
gipsy  garb  now.  I  wear  the  badge  of  humilia- 
tion not  because  it  is  my  proper  attire,  but  be- 
cause you  reduced  me  even  to  a  lower  level 
than  that  which  is  held  by  those  with  whom  I 
now  mostly  herd.  You  may  not  admire  that 
word,  my  Lord,  but  for  i<s  terrible  meaning  as 
applied  to  me  you  are  solely  responsible. 

"  You  attracted  my  notice  by  your  flattering 
attentions.  Your  personal  appearance  excited 
my  admiration,  for  it  was  the  successful  result 
of  close  and  diligent  study,  as  well  as 
patient  daily  labor.  You  wooed  me  and 
won  my  love  by  those  arts  which  men 
who  study  to  betray  women  know  how  to 
employ  when  their  aim  is  simply  the  ruin  of 
the  object  they  profess  to  worship.  Cold  and 
apathetic  as  you  appeared  to  others,  vou  were 
to  me  when  alone  all  ardor,  passion,  aaoration. 
You  bent  upon  me  burning  looks ;  you  breathed 
in  my  ears  passionate  words  ;  you  sought  to 
make  me  believe  that  the  reciprocation  of 
your  passion  by  me  was  the  life-pulse  of  your 
heart ;  that  if  I  refused  it  to  yon,  that  pulse 
would  be  snapped  asaunder,  and  that  you 
would  perish.  You  vowed,  you  sighed,  you 
went  upon  your  knees,  DOG!  and  wept— do  you 
forget  that? — and  wrung  from  me  the  confes- 
sion that  your  fiendish  arts  had  succeeded — 
that  the  love  you  bore  me  was  scarcely 
equaled  by  the  intensity  of  my  own.  When 
this  craft  had  reaped  us  reward,  you  coined 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  marriage — even  in 
the  possibility  of  our  continuing  to  meet.  You 
pictured  yourself  reduced  to  misery,  agony, 
despair,  when  separated  from  me.  I  knew 
what  my  own  unhappiness  would  have  been, 
had,  as  I  then  would  have  called  it,  implacable 
Fate,  divided  us.  You  urged  me  to  fly  with 
you  for  a  brief  period,  until  you  could  smooth 
away  all  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  us, 
and  introduce  me  to  the  world  as  your  best- 
beloved  wi/e. 

"  I  was  then  a  poor,  yonng,  credulous  girl — 
a  child,  for  I  was  not  sixteen — ignorant  of  the 
world's  cruel  deceptions  ;  for  my  mother,  hav- 
ing married  a  Count  of  Spain,  her  father  re- 
solved that  I  should  be  so  educated  and  reared 
as  to  bring  no  discredit  upon  my  father's  name. 
From  my  first  arrival  in  England,  I  had  been 
plaaed  at  a  school  exclusive  in  the  selection  of 
the  pupils  instructed  there:  It  is  unnecessary 
to  mention  how  the  introduction  was  obtained 
—it  is  enough  that  the  Marchiontss  of  Wcst- 
chester,  the  proud  Constance  Plantagenet,  was 
not  better  educated  than  myself.  But  though 
I  had  been  well  instructed  in  the  book-lore  of 
the  world,  of  the  world  itself  I  knew  nothing. 


I  believed  implicitly  all  that  you  said.  I  need- 
ed not  your  oaths,  entreaties,  knee-worsLip, 
your  tears,  to  move  me— I  would  have  died 
for  you.  I  thought  it  but  a  email  sacrifice  to 
do  what  you  asked  of  me  with  such  passion- 
ate implora  lions. 

"  I  fled  with  you.  I  had  better  have  leaped 
into  a  yawning  gulf,  and  there  have  perished 
by  being  dashed  into  a  thousand  fragments. 

"  For  a  brief  space  you  kept  me  in  a  deliri- 
um of  happiness.  You  would  not  Buffer  me  to 
think,  to  reason,  to  see,  to  know  aught  but 
that  you  loved  me.  Indeed,  tiien  I  wanted  to 
know  no  more. 

"I  knew  not  that  you  had  inducted  me  into 
evil,  and  had  glossed  your  deed  ever  with  spe- 
cious and  plausible  deceits.  But  I  had  a 
strange,  silent  sadness  fall  suddenly  upon  my 
spirits  :  I  knew  not  wherefore.  It  was  the  stiil 
small  voice  beginning  to  make  itself  heard.  I 
found  suddenly — for  in  the  intoxication  of  my 
delight  while  with  you,  I  had  not  observed 
others,  I  had  thought  of  gazing  only  on  you— 
I  found  suddenly  that,  when  abroad,  women 
shunned  me,  and  men  stared  offensively  at  me. 
I  marveled,  for  I  did  not  comprehend  why. 

"  At  this  time,  while  walking  alcne— for  you, 
pleading  some  imperative  engagement,  had 
left  me,  as  you  said  on  parting,  to  pass  a  few 
wretched  days  away  from  me — I  met  the  father 
of  ray  mother,  who  had  been  ia  wild  pursuit  of 
me  from  the  moment  he  had  heard  of  my  flight 
from  those  in  whoee  custody  I  had  been  placed. 

"  It  was  a  short  but  terrible  interview.  He 
quickly  extorted  from  me  the  cause  of  my 
flight.  He  eeized  my  hand,  and  glared  at  my 
fingers.  There  was  not  a  riug  upon  one  of 
them. 

"  lie  howled  imprecations  in  my  ears.  He 
made  me  comprehend  the  position  in  which 
you  had  placed  me,  and  he  heaped  curses  upon 
my  head. 

"  I  cursed  him  back  again,  for  he  had  show- 
ered upon  your  head  epithets  of  the  vilest 
kind — epithets  which  sounded  in  my  ears  worse 
even  than  the  rankest  blasphemy  ;  and  I  fled 
from  him — fled  to  our  home,  to  seek  a  letter 
which  I  expected  would  be  awaiting  me — a 
letter  from  you,  to  be  filled  with  protestations 
and  vowa  which  would  contain  internal  evi- 
dence of  your  love,  your  honor,  the  impossi- 
bility lhat  you  could  ever  play  me  false. 

"  1  found,  indeed,  a  letter  awaiting  mo,  and 
it  was  from  you.  I  devoured  its  contents. 
You  informed  me  in  it  that  you  had  discover- 
ed the  error  into  which  passion  had  led  us 
both,  and  that  you  greatly  r^retted  the  step 
which  we  had  both  taken.  You  had  consid- 
ered it  to  be  incumbent  upon  you  not  to  pro- 
long our  mutual  shame,  and  therefore,  with 
considerable  reluctance,  you  had  torn  your- 
self away  from  me.  You  advised  me  to  return 
quietly  to  my  friends,  to  make  aty  plausible 
excuse  which  I  could  inveiit  for  iny  absence, 
and  to  keep  my  secret  locked  within  my  own 
breast,  as  I  might  rest  assured  that  if  I  never 
revealed  it  to  a  living  person,  the  world  would 
never  be  any  the  wiser.  The  prospects  of 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


119 


marriage  with  some  person  more  fortunate 
than  youreelf,  you  added,  would  certainly  be 
open  to  me,  aad  you  trusted  that  I  would 
eventually  prove  a  happy  woman. 

"  That  was  the  purport  of  your  communica- 
tion to  me.  I  wonder  I  did  not  drop  dead  ere  I 
reached  your  vile  signature — itself  a  lie,  for  you 
palmed  yourself  upon  me  and  my  friends  un- 
der an  assumed  name.  It,  however,  did  not 
elay  ine.  The  intelligence  of  your  death,  while 
I  was  yet  laboring  under  the  delusion  you  had 
woven  for  me,  would  have  killed  me  ;  your 
villainy  roused  a  more  terrible  emotion — more 
terrible,  for  it  would  have  been  happiness  to 
me  to  die — more  terrible,  because  the  passions 
roused  were  hatred  and  revenge — an  undying 
hatred,  a  never-to-be- satisfied  revenge. 

"  I  recalled  the  curse  which  I  had  invoked 
upon  him  who  had  cursed  you,  and  I  cursed 
you  myself  with  a  bitterness  of  heart,  such 
only  a*  one  could  have  felt  who,  being  wronged 
as  I  bad  been,  had  such  a  nature  as  mine. 

"  Then  followed  an  interval  of  madness,  of 
incarceration  in  an  asylum  for  lunatics,  an  es- 
cape, a  brooding  over  thoughts  of  revenge, 
and  a  settled  determination  to  obtain  it. 

"  A  sudden  and  unlooked-for  meeting  ena- 
bled me,  though  only  for  a  moment,  to  fasten 
upon  yoia,  and  tell  you  that  I  had  evrorn  to 
have  your  life.  I  have  kept  my  oatb,  end  I 
will  yet  keep  it.  I  have  aided  ia  taking  from 
you  a  life  of  happiness ;  I  will  give  you  a  fur- 
ther term  of  mental  torture ;  and,  when  my 
own  hour  for  quitting  a  world  which  has  fur- 
nished me  with  nothing  but  misery  arrives,  I 
will  drag  you  down  to  perdition  with  ine. 

"Have  you  finished  ?"  said  the  Earl,  in  a 
low,  but  defiant,  ecornful  tone,  as  she  paused. 
"  Let  me,  if  you  have,  assure  you  that  I  hold 
your  threats  in  derision.  Let  me  further  in- 
form you,  that  you  have  had  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  the  happiness  of  my  life.  Circum- 
stances over  which  you  could  not  possibly 
have  had  any  control  may  have  affected  some 
of  my  views,  but  that  they  have  disturbed  my 
happiness  is  simply  absurd.  I  accept  your 
hatred,  revenge,  threat?,  anything  you  please, 
so  that  it  terminates  this  disagreeable  inter- 
view ;  but  before  it  is  over,  I  request  you  to 
permit  me,  as  you  have  accused  me  of  depriv- 
ing you  of  one  delusion,  to  disabuse  your  mind 
of  another.  It  is  all  very  well  to  call  a  man  a 
villain,  a  betrayer,  an  unprincipled,  heartless 
wretch,  because  a  weak-minded  girl  has  de- 
ceived herself  into  a  belief  that  the  impulses  of 
passion  are  the  signs  of  a  chaste  devotion,  but 
there  is  something  also  to  be  said  in  extenua- 
tion of  his  conduct.  If  I  thought  you  hand- 
some when  I  firs!;  saw  you,  your  eyes  told  me 
that  my  admiration  was  anything  but  offensive 
to  you.  You  gave  me  back  look  for  look, 
smile  for  smile.  You  were,  or  affacted  to  be, 
flattered  when  I  spoke  to  you.  You  were 
prompt  in  receiving  my  advances ;  you  lent  a 
ready  ear  to  my  words ;  you  acted  in  every 
way  not  aloue  to  create  love  in  my  breast,  to 
fascinate  me,  but  to  inflame  my  p&seion,  ao 
that  you  might  encircle  me  with  a  chain  which 


I  could  not  break.  I  saw  through  the  artifice. 
We  played  a  game  to  deceive  each  other.  I 
succeeded  ;  you  did  not ;  and  therefore  I  am  a 
villain.  But  what  if  you  had  succeeded— what 
if  you  had  hooked  me  into  a  binding  ceremo- 
ny, and  had  turned  out  to  be  what  I  now  find 
you?—- you  would  have  been — my  wife,  and 
therefore  entitled  to  triumph  in  the  deception 
which  you  had  practiced  on  me.  It  ia  not  ev- 
ery  man  who  finds  that,  after  the  marriage-cer- 
emony is  over,  the  woman  wno  before  it  so 
fawned  upon  him,  caressed  him,  appeared  to  ] 
love  him  for  himself  only,  and  to  have  no  other  ; 
wish  than  such  as  he  would  frame,  ia  quite  the  I 
same  person.  The  same  evil  principles  which  ! 
have  developed  themselves  in  your  nature 
since  we  first  met  would  have  shown  theinselvas 
if  we  had  been  united.  They  were  in  your 
breast,  though  dormant.  It  is,  therefore,  a 
fortunate  escape  for  me  ;  and  you,  having 
found  out  that  I  did  not  turn  out  what  you 
anticipated,  ought  to  congratulate  yourself 
that  you  have  had  a  fortunate  escape,  too. 
You  tried  to  ensnare  me  :  I  succeeded  in  en- 
snaring you.  Tiro  people  who  throw  a  cast  of 
dice  do  not  quarrel  because  one  of  them  wins. 
Let  this  foolish  matter  end  here,  and  here  Jet 
the  interview  end,  too.  Let  it  alao  be  our  last 
in  this  world." 

He  turned  to  depart,  but  she  intercepted 
him.    She  caught  him  fiercely  by  tha  wrist. 

"  Our  interviaw  has    barely  commenced,"  ! 
she  said,  between  her  teeth.    "  You  cannot  de- 
part until  it  is  ended.    I  have  beeii  speaking 
to  you  of  matters  which  have  occurred  between 
me  and  you.    I  ehall  proceed  to  speak  of  you 
and  others.    I  am  about  to  gratify  you  with 
some  information   concerning  one  Constance 
Pl&ntagenet  and  her  child — ha !  that  ma^ea 
you  start,  does  it  ?    You  will  start  and  quiver  | 
more  before  I  have  done  with  you.    Let  me, ! 
however,  first  express  my  utter  scorn  at  your  j 
retort  upon  me.    It  wanted  but  that  piece  of: 
meanness  to  crown  your  heartless  villainy  to 
me.    Yet  if  I  can  extract  comfort  out  cf  any- ! 
thing,  it  will  be  the  knowledge  that  I  have 
been  able  to  successfully  thwart  all  your  plans- 
upon  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester  for  the 
last  ten  years." 

"You?"   he    ejaculated,  with  angry  BUP-! 
piise. 

"I!"  she  answered,  grimly.  ""When  I  es- 
caped from  the  mad  house,  I  searched  for  you 
as  a  starving  tiger  searches  for  prey.  I  changed 
thea  from  what  you  knew  me  to  what  I  am.  j 
As  a  gipsy,  and  with  a  tribe  which,  from  causes 
which  can  be  of  no  interest  to  you,  were  bound 
to  serve  me,  I  was  not  only  able  to  obtain  the 
means  to  live — a  matter  of  indifference  to  me, 
but  for  the  object  which  I  had  at  heart— but  it 
afforded  me  facilities  for  working  out  certain 
designs  which  I  had  planned  against  your  ease 
and  comfort,  as  well  as  against  your  peace  of 
mind,  as  I  had  sworn  I  would.  Of  these  plans 
I  will  speak  no  further,  than  to  admit  that 
they  were  mostly  frustrated  by  circumstances 
which,  ia  opite  of  all  my  efforts,  I  failed  to  i 
control. 


120 


IIAGAR  LOT 


"  In  the  midst  of  my  disappointment  and 
despair,  Fate  conducted  to  me  Constance, 
Marchioness  of  Westchester." 

"  She  sought  me,  ptoud  Lord  of  Brackleigh, 
In  order  that  I  might  epirit  away  a  child — a 
young,  fair,  lovely,  haughty  child — her  child, 
Earl  Brackleigh— your  child,  Earl  Brackleigh. 
I  found  the  child  Bleeping  in  a  little  bed  in  one 
of  the  humblest  cots  in  Beachborough.  I  stole 
it  as  it  slept." 

"  Wretch  I"  muttered  the  Earl,  with  livid 
lips. 

•j,     "0!  but  Fate  had  found  me,  at  last,  a 
way  to   wreak  vengeance!"    she  responded, 


What,  do  you  dare  to  tell  me  that  Con- 
stance, Marchioness  of  Westchester,  engaged 
you  to  steal  a  child  which  was  hers,  and  which 
she  dared  not  acknowledge?"  cried  the  Earl, 
with  considerable  excitement. 

"  Is  your  lordship  anxious  that  her  husband, 
the  Marquis,  should  make  a  third  person  at 
this  interview  ?"  she  reoponded,  sarcastically. 
"  You  have  but  to  elevate  your  voice  a  little 
more,  and  your  object  will  be  obtained !" 

He  started,  and  gazed  around  him  nerv- 
ously. Then  he  said,  hastily,  and  in  a  lover 
tone : 

*'  What  proof  can  you  give  to  me  that  you 
are  speaking  the  trutii  ?  You  have  confessed 
to  having  desigan  against  my  peace,  and  there- 
fore you  have  an  interest  in  falsifying  facts 
when  addressing  me !" 

"  In  my  present  narration,  I  have,  at  least, 
an  interest  in  telling  the  truth,"  she  added, 
with  a  marked  enunciation.  "  It  is  my  object 
to  wring  your  heart,  if  you  have  one  to  wring 
— to  drive  you  to  desperation  and  madness,  as 
you  did  me.  I  tell  you  that  what  I  have  said, 
and  what  I  shall  say  to  you,  are  facts.  Is  it 
not  a  fact  that  you  wooed  Constance  Planta- 
genet  in  secret?" 

"Well?" 

"  That  you  met  her,  and  made  her  believe 
that  you  loved  her  ?" 

"I  did  love  her!" 

"Yon  did?" 

"  I  did,  and  do  now !" 

"What  now— still?" 

"  Passionately— madly.  She  is  the  only 
woman  I  ever  loved— shall  ever  love!  Will 
that  serve  you  ?" 

"Why,  I  thought  you  had  done  your 
worst  I"  gasped  Hagar,  grasping  at  a  branch 
of  a  tree  for  support ;  '•  but  I  find  that  you 
^  still  make  me  feel  that  you  can  further  insult 
\  me,  further  degrade  me,  can  make  my  hatred 
j  of  you  yet  more  venomous,  my  desire  for  ven- 
geance yet  more  fierce  and  vindictive.  Your 
words  have  been  like  a  succession  of  stabs 
upon  an  already  deeply-wounded  heart.  And 
!  now  hold  your  heart,  fiend  of  the  remorseless 
;  nature  !  for  my  tongue  shall  stab  it  as  deeply 
and  as  poisonously  as  yours  has  gashed 
mine!" 

She  paused  for  a  moment  to  wipe  the  clam- 
my sweat  from  her  brow,  and,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  she  said,  between  her  teeth  : 


"  So  you  admit  that  -you  passionately  love 
the  wife  of  another?'' 

He  bent  his  head  down  to  hers,  and  said,  also 
between  his  clenched  teeth : 

"  My  wife,  woman  I" 

She  recoiled  from  him. 

4<  What!"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  unaffected 
horror ;  "  would  you  have  the  atrocious  au- 
dacity to  insinuate  to  me  —  to  me,  Lord 
Brackleigh,  that  you  hare  both  been,  guilty  ol 
bigamy?" 

"No — no— no!"  he  cried,  hurriedly.  "I 
should  have  said,  she  who  ought  to  have  been 
my  wife  1" 

Hagar  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  penetrat- 
ingly ;  her  lips  muttered  and  moved ;  he  had 
given  her  a  clue  to  an  idea  which  she  had  not 
hitherto  conceived.  She  had  all  along  sup- 
posed that  he,  Bertram,  had,  by  some  villain- 
ous contrivance,  succeeded  in  beguiling  and 
betraying  the  Marchioness,  as  he  had  her,  and 
that  though  the  consequences  of  Lis  infamy 
were  more  serious  to  the  Marchioness  than  to 
her,  yet  the  former  had  managed  to  conceal 
her  secret  from  the  world. 

Now  she  saw  their  connection  in  a  new  light 
— what  if  there  really  had  been  a  secret  mar- 
riage? How  securely  she  would  have  him, 
ay,  and  the  Marchioness,  too,  in  her  power  I 
Both  would  have  violated  the  law,  and  poor 
Floret  would  be  a  legitimately -bom  lady  after 
all. 

Here,  indeed,  was  food  for  vengeance  more 
ample  than  she  could  have  ever  dreamed  of, 
far  less  hoped  for. 

She  mentally  vowed  to  break  the  hearts  oi 
all— she  would  destroy  them.  She  hated  the 
Marchioness  now;  for  she  it  must  have  been 
who  had  robbed  her  so  suddenly  of  Bertram's 
love.  She  hated  Floret,  for  she  was  the  child 
of  those  whom  she  hated ;  and  most  deadly  of 
all  was  her  hatred  of  Bertram,  for  he  having 
ruined  her,  was  allied  to  two  beings  who  might 
yet  render  him  happy. 

Sucii  a  throng  of  thoughts  swept  through 
her  brain  that,  for  a  few  moments,  she  could 
not  speak.  She  swiftly  resolved  to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  to  discover  what  Liper  Leper 
could  have  proved  to  her,  and  did  not ;  and  if 
she  should  be  able  to  confirm  her  suspicions, 
she  determined  that  no  spark  of  mercy  or 
compassion  which  might  rise  up  in  her  heart, 
either  for  the  Marchioness  or  Floret,  should 
interfere  to  prevent  her  glutting  her  ven- 
geance. 

Recovering,  by  a  remarkable  effort,  her  out- 
ward composure,  she  said : 

"  It  is  simply  a  mockery  to  say  to  me  that 
she  ought  to  have  been  your  wife  ;  but  let  it 
pass,  and  listen !" 

She  passed  her  hands  over  her  temples,  and 
then  said,  in  low,  distinct  tones  : 

"  Constance  Plantagenet,  after  you  had  made 
her  your  prey,  retired  to  Beaehborough  Ab- 
bey in  delicate  health — do  you  remember 
that?" 

"  Go  on— I  do,"  he  responded,  impatiently. 

"  While  there,  she,  in  eecret,  was  delivered 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


121 


of  a  child— a  daughter,"  continued  Hagar. 
"  This  child  was  intrusted  to  a  confidant,  one 
Fanny  Shelley.  You  remember  Snelley  r" 

With  white  face  and  parched  lips  he  nodded 
assenting! v.  He  could  not  speak. 

"She  was  the  foster-sister  of  Constance 
Plantagenet,  and,  therefore,  could  be  trusted. 
Now,  mark  me,  Earl  Brackleigh !  Constance 
Plantagenet  recovered  her  health,  and  return- 
ed to  London.  Fanny  Shelley  accompanied 
her  thither.  But  after  a  lapse  of  time — m 
great  interval — Fanny  Shelley  reappeared  aV 
Beachl  orough  with  a  child.  She  said  that  it 
was  one  which  had  been  intrusted  to  her  to 
nurse.  She  told  the  truth ;  but  the  village 
folks  did  not  believe  her — her  lover  did  not 
believe  her— her  lover.  Lord  Brackleigh— no, 
proud  and  haughty  peer  of  this  great  realm, 
he  did  not  beiieve  her,  and  witbin  a  few  days 
afterward  she  was  found  horribly  murdered  in 
Beachborough  Brook— murdered  on  account 
of  your  child  1" 

"  My  God!"  ejasulated  the  Earl,  staggering 
backand  easping,  "  this  cannot  be  true !" 

"  It  is  true,"  retorted  Hagar,  speaking  with 
strong  emphasis.  "  Your  deliberate  and  sin- 
ful villainy  compassed  the  murder  of  an  inno- 
cent girl  at  the  very  outset — " 

"  No— no — no  !"  cried  the  Earl,  with  deep 
emotion. 

"  I  tell  you  it  did,  and  that  it  did  not  atop 
there,"  she  rejoined,  vehemently.  "  The 
lover  was  tried  for  the  murder,  but  there  were 
no  proofs,  and  he  was  acquitted ;  but  every 
man's  face  was  averted  from  him,  every  wom- 
an biased  at,  or  shunned  him.  Self- expatriated, 
he  went  abroad,  leaving  behind  him  a  home 
which  had  once  been  happy,  and  he  its  bright- 
est ornament,  desolate.  The  parents  of  poor 
Fanny  Shelley  lie  in  the  same  grave  with 
their  murdered  child.  They  died  of  broken 
hearts. 

"  If  this  were  true,  it  would  crush  ine  for- 
ever," he  murmured,  almost  distinctly. 

"It  is  but  the  beginning,"  rejoined  Hagar, 
fiercely ;  "  but  the  beginning.  If  your  heart 
can  be  crushed,  it  will  be  before  I  shall  have 
reached  the  end.  Be  silent,  and  note  every 
word  I  shall  say.  That  child  —  your  child, 
Lord  Brackleigh— was  left  a  pauper  legacy  to 
the  village  of  Beach  borough,  and  was  sup- 
ported by  those  who  could  barely  support 
themselves.  It  was  reared  by  one  and  another, 
it  had  no  home,  and  wandered  about  from  cot- 
tage to  cottage  for  a  meal  and  for  shelter,  and 
it  was  kuown  only  in.  the  village  by  the  name 
of  the  POOR  GIRL  1" 

"Stay— one  wordl"  interrupted  the  Earl,  in 
a  faint  voice,  trembling  and  quivering  in  every 
limb  as  he  spoke.  "  You  who  assume  to  know 
BO  mush,  and  who  assert  that  you  are  speaking 
facts,  teii  me,  before  you  proceed  further,  did 
Constance  Plaiitagenet  know  the  fate  of  her 
foster-sister,  and  the  condition  of — of  the — the 
—the  child?" 

"  Not  then,"  returned  Hagar,  immediately, 
"  at  least  she  did  not,  BO  far  as  I  know,  and  as 
£  believe.  She  had  been  five  years  a  mar- 


chioness when  she  revisited  Beaohborough. 
Why  she  went  thither,  or  what  were  her 
thoughts  when  she  entered  the  abbey,  she 
alone  will  tell  you  ;  it  ia  enough  for  the  pur- 
pose of  my  narration,  tha«-  it  was  at  this  visit 
she  beheld  the  Poor  Girl,  and  learned  its  his- 
tory. It  was  at  this  period  that  she  sought  a 
gipsy  in  the  wood,  in  the  obscurity  of  eight, 
and  encountered  me.  I  was  there  for  the  pur- 
pose of  obtaining  a  supply  of  money  to  carry 
out  an  object  I  had  in  view,  and  with  which 
you  were  connected.  I  was  hired  by  her  to 
steal  the  child  from  the  village,  aad — " 

"What?"  he  half  screamed, 

"Not  murder  it,"  continued  Hagar,  "no; 
but  to  be  less  merciful  to  it.  It  was  an  ob- 
ject of  Lorror  and  loathing  to  the  Marchion- 
ess." 

"No — no;  say  not  that  it  could  not  have 
been— it  was  her  own  child/'  he  exclaimed, 
excitedly. 

"  And  yours,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  biting 
sneer,  "and  therefore  ehe  loathed  it.  She 
called  upon  me  to  bear  it  away,  and  place  it 
where  it  could  never  be  seen  again  by  her ;  in 
some  obscure  spot  from  whence  its  name  could 
never  reach  her ;  where  it  might  exist  or  die 
in  such  a  fashion  that  it  could  never  cross  her 
eight— perhaps  her  memory — more." 

"  She  could  not  be  so  foully  heartless,"  he 
ejaculated,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

*'  Do  you  say  that  of  one  you  love  so  pas- 
sionately ?"  returned  Hagar,  between  her  teeth. 
"  Know  that  she  was  so  heartless,  and  was  not, 
had  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  prepared  to 
halt  there.  You,  you  who  love  her  eo  ador- 
ingly, will  yet  learn  that.  I  tell  you,  Lord 
Brackleigh,  she  would  not  look  into  the  face 
of  the  child,  but  she  gave  me  money,  and  sh« 
went  her  way,  and  I  went  mine." 

"You— you!  Whither  did  you  bear  the 
child  ?"  he  cried,  gasping  for  breath,  like  one 
exhausted. 

"  To  a  low,  pestilential  neighborhood,  in  the 
most  noisome  and  loathliest  locality  in  thia 
huge  city,"  she  returned,  with  biting  empha 
sis.  "  I  deposited  her  there  in  the  custody  of 
an  old  member  of  the  gipsy  tribe.  I  knew  my 
man.  I  saw  that  the  girl-child  was  young  and 
fair.  I  was  well  acquainted  with  his  grasping 
avarice.  I  knew  that  he  would  keep  her  m  a 
beggar's  home,  but  that  he  would  make  a  mar- 
ket of  her  beauty.  I  left  her  with  him — your 
child,  Lord  Brackleigh." 

"Fiend!    Witch!    I— I— I—" 

The  Earl  tossed  his  hands  wildly  in  the  air, 
and  sank  At  her  feet  in  a  fit. 

She  watched  him  with  an  eager  and  excited 
look  for  a  moment,  and  then  ^she  folded  her 
arms,  and  spurning  him  with  her  foot,  looked 
down  upon  him  with  a  gleam  of  exultation  and 
a  smile  ot  triumph. 


122 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

'*  Beneath  what  hateful  planet,  on  what  hour 
Of  desperation,  by  what  fury's  aid, 
la  wfcat  infernal  posture  of  the  eonl, 
AH  hell  invited,  and  all  hell  in  joy 
At  such  a  binh,  a  birth  so  near  of  kin, 
Did  her  foul  fancy  whelp  so  black  a  scheme  ?»» 
— YOUKO. 

The  Earl  of  Brackleigh  was  not  a  man  to  be 
easily  affected  by  intelligence  of  a  serious  kind. 
He  was  by  nature  apathetic,  and  he  had 
schooled  himself  from  boyhood  to  be,  or  at 
least  to  appear,  listless  and  indifferent  at  times 
when  other  persons  were  excited  or  affected. 

The  origin  of  this  systematic  display  of  un- 
concern might  have  been  traced  to  a  spirit  of 
selfishness,  which  was  strong  within  him. 
The  oft-recurring  thought,  "  this  is  nothing  to 
me",  urged  him  to  preserve  a  species  of  insen- 
sibility which,  though  truly  aristocratic,  did 
no  credit  either  to  his  sense  or  to  his  heart. 
But  for  all  that,  he  felt,  and  felt  deeply,  too, 
as  we  have  just  seen,  when  his  own  immediate 
interests  were  touched. 

He  sacrificed  his  love  upon  the  altar  of 
Mammon.  Ho  parted  with  a  young  and  lovely 
woman  because  he  foresaw  that  by  wedding  her 
against  the  consent  of  her  family,  that  he 
should  obtain  no  portion  with  her,  and  he  sur- 
rendered her  for  one  who  was  personally,  in 
most  respects,  inferior  to  her,  but  who,  in  a 
pecuniary  sense,  was  vastly  her  superior. 

When  he  was  surfeited  with  wealth,  he  want- 
ed his  young  and  beautiful  bride  back  again  ; 
but  he  could  not  get  her.  He  had  himself  as- 
sisted to  place  her  beyond  his  own  reach,  and 
now  he  believed  that  she  was  necessary  to  his 
happiness ;  consequently,  he  felt  deeply,  and 
the  more  deeply,  perhaps,  from  his  continued 
and  anxious  efforts  to  conceal  his  feelings. 
The  recovery  of  Constance  he  regarded  as 
"something  to  him";  he,  therefore,  worried 
and  fretted,  and  was  in  a  constant  state  of  in- 
ward excitement,  because  he  found  it  next  to 
impossible  to  carry  out  his  aim. 

Tho  revelations  of  beauty,  as  they  preceded, 
acted  upon  this  internal  agitation,  &nd  made 
him  susceptible  to  any  blow  she  might  deal 
him,  through  som«  disclosure  calculated  to  be 
more  hurtful  to  his  pride  than  any  he  had  yet 
heard. 

Sinco  his  interview  with  Floret,  whom  Lady 
BrAckleigh  had  dragged  BO. unceremoniously 
from  hi*  presence,  he  had  gradually  worked 
himself  up  to  the  belief  that  she  was  his  child. 
This  conviction  when  he  remembered  how 
beautiful  Floret  waa,  would  have  filled  him  with 
an  entrancing  joy,  but  for  the  fear  that,  as  she 
had  passed  her  young  life  in  an  atmosphere  of 
want  and  poverty,  she  could  not  have  escaped 
moral  corruption. 

If  his  surmise  happened  to  prove  correct, 
he  eaw  that  ke  had  found  her  only  to  shun  her, 
and  that  she,  instead' — as  he  had  at  first  sup- 
posed she  would — of  being  an  instrument  by 
which  he  could  effect  a  reunion  with  Constance, 
would,  in  reality,  prove  an  effectual  bar  to 
their  being  reunited. 

Every  statement  H*gar  made  inflicted  a 


desperate  wound  upon  his  pride,  although'  he 
tried  to  assume  a  calm  and  imperturbable  de- 
meanor ;  but  when  he  learned  that  he,  proud 
of  his  rank  and  lofty  station,  was  the  father  of 
a  young  girl,  of  whose  beauty  a  wretched  old 
gipsy  had  made  a  market,  and  that  his  own  le- 
gal wife,  the  woman  he  so  loved,  had  consigned, 
this  child  to  such  a  horrible  fate  without  pity: 
and  without  remorse,  the  shock  to  his  pride 
was  too  great  for  his  powers  of  endurance,  and 
he  fell  beneath  the  blow  in  a  convulsive  fit. 

Hagar,  as  he  fell,  stood  over  him  with  a  tri- 
umphant emile,  like  a  spirit  of  evil  She  t  svice 
or  thrice  ppurned  him  with  her  foot,  and  mut- 
tered, between  her  grating  teeth: 

"  You  hurled  me  to  the  dust  without  mercy, 
wretch!  It  is  fit  that  that  you  should  lie  hu- 
miliated and  broken-spirited  at  my  feet.  You 
wrecked  forever  my  happiness — seek  hence- 
forth for  your  own.  You  will  find  it  only  in 
the  same  region  where  I  shall  grasp  mine — 
eternity!" 

After  contemplating  him  for  a  minute  or  eo 
with  exultation,  she  saw  his  death-like  face 
turn  slowly  toward  her.  The  expression  of  in- 
tense pain  upon  the  features,  the  agonized  roll- 
ing of  his  eyes,  the  restless  movement  of  his 
blue  lips,  seemed  to  make  an  impression  upon 
her  stern  nature.  She  had  once  loved  him 
fondly;  he  had  deceived,  betrayed,  insulted 
her,  and  she  believed  her  love  was  turned  into 
the  fiercest  hate,  and  that  the  only  passion 
which  the  sight  of  him  stimulated  in  her 
breast  was  an  ardent  desire  of  vengeance.  Yet 
the  glance  at  his  pallid  face,  his  evident  suffer- 
ing, touched  that  soft  place  in  her  woman's  na- 
ture which  makes  the  sex,  in  the  hours  of  an- 
guish and  affliction,  of  sickness  and  misery, 
truly  ministering  angels. 

She  bent  over  him,  and  as  she  saw  the  con- 
tortions of  his  features,  and  listened  to  his 
groans,  scalding  tears  fell  from  her  eyelids 
even  on  to  his  white  cheeks. 

"  They  are  the  last  that  he  s^all  ever  extort 
from  me  "  she  murmured.  "  He  never  knew 
the  depth  of  that  love  which  he  flung  away  so 
ruthlessly ;  he  shall  live  to  know  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  hatred  he  has  sown  in  its  place." 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  email  phial,  and 
moistened  his  lips  and  nostrils  with  its  con- 
tents. She  raised  his  head,  and  supported  it 
upon  her  knee.  She  parted  his  hair,  which  had 
strayed  over  his  forehead,  and  she  bathed  Ma 
temples  with  the  stimulant  nntil  he  opened  hia 
eyelids,  and  gazed  wildly  around  him. 

lie  sat  for  an  instant  motionless,  and  then  he 
jumped  to  his  feet,  and  gazed  steadfastly  upca 
the  face  of  Hagar.  He  perused  her  feaures  at- 
tentively, and  presently  a  deep  sigh  escaped 
from  his  lips ;  he  turned  away,  and  resting  his 
elbow  agamst  the  stem  of  a  tree,  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  tried  to  recall  all 
that  had  passed  between  himself  and  her  be- 
fore the  fit  had  seized  him. 

It  came  back  bit  by  bit,  slowly,  but  it  came 
back,  every  word  of  it ;  and  when  he  had  re- 
membered all,  he  shuddered,  end  then  remov- 
ing hie  hand  from  his  eyes,  he  said  to  her : 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


123 


"  I  confess  I  have  been  greatly  unnerved  by 
yonr  communication.    If  it  can  afford  you 
any  satisfaction  to  know  that  you  have  inflicted 
the  greatest  torture  possible  upon  me — " 
"  It  can !"  she  interposed,  eagerly. 
"  Bs  satisfied,  then,"  he  rejoined,  "  for  you 
hare  wounded  me  more  deeply  than  I  can  find 
words  to  describe." 

"  It  affords  me  intense  satisfaction,"  she  re- 
sponded, "  yet  I  am  not  satisfied." 
He  waved  his  hand. 

"  Let  me  speak,"  he  said,  sharply,  although 
he  enunciated  bis  words  with  difiiculty. 
"  You  believe  yourself  to  have  been  wronged 
by  me." 

""  Believe  myself?"  she  echoed,  with  a  laugh 
of  rage.  "  Why,  villain,  you  decoyed  ine  into 
an  infamous  snare.  You  made  a  trap  for  me 
out  of  the  very  love  I  bore  you.  You  blasted 
my  reputation.  You  destroyed  my  innocence. 
You  have  utterly  and  wholly  wrecked  my  hap- 
piness in  this  life,  and  by  the  infamy  of  your 
conduct  have  more  than  imperiled  my  here- 
after, and  you  say  coolly  that  I  believe  myself 
to  be  wronged — " 

"  Peace  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  interrupted. 
"  Do  not  let  us  haggle  aoout  terms.    Grant- 
ed, I  have  wronged  you  ;  your  wrong  is,  how- 
ever, but  a  mental  one.    You  thirst  for  ven- 
geance ;  ycu  have,  in  the  revelations  -which 
you  have  this  night  made  to  me,  more  than 
slaked  it,  were  it  ten  times  as  fierce — " 
"I  have  not,"  she  interpolated,  sternly. 
"Without  heeding  her  interruption,  he  went 
an: 

"  No  mental  torture  that  you  can  conceive 
can  approach  tbat  which  you  have  inflicted 
upon  me,  and  which  I  must  endure  while  I 
live.  Still,  I  do  not  conceal  from  myself  that 
you  have  made  your  statements  to  me  while 
animated  by  a  spirit  of  revenge,  and,  therefore, 
I  have  a  right  to  assume  that  you  have  given 
to  them  an  exaggerated  coloring,  which  makes 
them  appear  more  terrible  than  they  are.  Di- 
vested of  all  exaggeration,  they  cannot  fail  to 
be  to  me  both  painful  and  humiliating,  and 
that  ought  to  be  sufficient  to  glut  jour  desire 
for  vengeance.  I  entreat  you,  therefore,  to 
think  over  what  you  have  said,  and  recall  all 
that  you  have  advanced  which  will  uot  bear 
the  test  of  proof,  and  strip  every  assertion  of 
enlargement  beyond  the  strict  troth,  »nd 
then,  even  then,  you  may  feel  csaured  that 
you  leave  me  a  broken -spirited,  broken-heart- 
ed man." 

"My  Lord  Brackleigh,"  returned  Hagar, 
sternly,  "  da  you  think  I  could  exaggerate  a 
description  of  my  own  wrongs  ?  It  is  possible 
ycu  may  ;  but  understand  me  to  believe  that 
they  far  outstrip  in  atrocity  what  words  can 
adequately  express,  that  no  degree  of  what  is 
termed  hyperbole  could  reach  them.  Believe 
this  alao  of  the  revelations  which  I  have  to- 
night made  to  you,  and  which  are  not  yet  com- 
pleted. The  story  throughout  is  too  terrible 
for  exaggeration.  I  have  confided  myself  to 
the  strict  lixits  of  the  stern  truth,  feeling  that 
nothing  that  I  oould  add  would  strengthen  or 


sharpen  the  horror  which  the  circumstances 
themselves,  toli  in  the  plainest  terms,  must 
convey.  You  have  no  shelter  from  the  storm 
which  ia  bursting  upon  you,  and  you  have  but 
one  escape  from  it." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  he  inquired,  eagerly. 

"  You  shall  know  presently,"  she  returned, 
with  a  smile,  which  made  an  unpleasant  thrill 
pass  over  his  frame.  "  Let  me  complete  the 
history  of  your  child." 

"  Stay — one  moment,"  he  cried,  arresting 
her  speech.  "  You  speak  with  a  tone  of  au- 
thority respecting  the  child  you  aaeert  to  be 
mine.  What  is  your  authority  for  declaring 
that  it  is  my  child  ?" 

"  Its  mother,"  answered  Hugar,  emphatic- 
ally. 

"  Who !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  star- 
tled amazement. 

Hagar  repeated  the  worda. 

"  It  is  impossible !"  he  cried,  with  asperity. 
"I  will  never  believe  that  its  mother  revealed 
my  name  to  you." 

Hagar  again  smiled  bitterly.  Wiih  knitted 
brows  she  said  to  him : 

"  You  say  that  you  love  still  her  whom  you 
knew  as  Constance  Plantagenet?" 

"I  repeat  that  I  do— -passionately,"  he  cried, 
with  excitement ;  "  I  repeat  it,  even  though  I 
know  and  feel  that  it  is  a  dangerous  admission 
to  make  in  your  hearing." 

Her  brow  lowered  gloomily. 

"  I  have  long  known,"  she  said,  in  a  subdued 
tone,  "  that  you  never  loved  me.  What  mat- 
ters it  to  me,  then,  whom  you  love,  if  I  cm 
not  that  person  ?  I  still  ask  you,  do  you  love 
her  as  ardently  now  as  you  have  affirmed  that 
you  do?" 

'•I  do,"  he  replied. 

"  And  doing  so,  do  you  think  that  another 
deceived  and  betrayed  her  as  sinfully,  wicked- 
ly, shamefully  as  you  did  ?" 

He  recoiled  two  or  three  paces,  and  groan- 
ed. 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  know  her  to  be  its  moth- 
er," continued  Hagar ;  "  and  there  is  a  suffi- 
ciently strong  resemblance  in  the  girl's  fea- 
tures to  yours  to  settle  the  question  you  are 
seeking  to  raise.  She  is  your  daughter — you 
feel  it — you  know  it !  Hug,  therefore,  to  your 
heart  these  facts.  Its  mother  has  met  it,  and 
pursued  it  with  an  irreconcilable  hate;  she 
whom  you  so  love  gave  it  over  to  that  de- 
struction which  is  far  worse  than  death.  She 
consigned  it  to  poverty  and  wretchedness— a 
squalid  home,  and  mercenary  wretches  for 
guardians.  Her  days  were  passed  shoeless  in 
the  streets ;  her  nights  upon  a  bag  of  straw, 
tossed  into  a  corner  cf  a  filthy  cell,  reckipg 
with  a  festering,  foetid  atmosphere.  She,  tfeis 
young  child,  the  daughter  of  the  proud  EarJ  of 
Brackleigh  and  the  haughty  Marchioness  cf 
Wast.chester." 

" 1  will  cot  believe  it !"  cried  the  Earl,  wiih 
passionate  vehemence.  "  Who  should  know 
the  character,  the  nature,  the  heart,  the  soul  oi 
Constance  PJantagenet  eo  well  as  I  ?  You  lie, 
woman — you  lie  foully  I  Constance  Plantage- 


124 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


net  never,  in  the  frenzy  of  madness,  could 
ever  have  conceived  an  act  BO  cruel,  EO  bar 
barons,  BO  utterly  and  monstrously  inhuman ! 
I  will  eee  her — I  will — I  will  at  every  risk, 
though  I  forfeited  my  life  at  the  very  close  of 
the  interview !  I  will  tell  her  of  this  wild  and 
infamous  charge  against  her  common  human- 
icy,  and  I  Bhall  hear  her  indignantly  and  scorn- 
fully denounce,  and  flatly  contradict,  your 
incredible  story !" 

•*  Your  hard  words,  Lord  Brackleigb,  do  not 
move  me,"  said  Hagar,  with  s  curling  lip. 
"  But  let  me  invite  you  to  reflect,  after  you 
have  heard  from  the  lips  of  the  Poor  Girl,  who 
has  been  and  is  the  tubject  of  our  discourse,  a 
confirmation  of  my  story  upon  the  character, 
the  nature,  the  heart,  and  the  soul,  of  Con- 
etance  Plantagenet :  reflect,  my  lord,  needfully 
and  solicitously,  and  then  love  her  as  of  old,  if 
you  can !" 

"  I  am  determined  to  see  her,  and  learn  all 
from  her  own  lips,"  rejoined  the  Earl,  in  a 
fever  of  excitement.  "  If  you  have  spoken  the 
truth,  then  I  have  ended  with  the  world  ;  but 
if,  as  I  conceive,  as  I  feel,  out  of  the  prompt- 
ings of  vengeful  jealousy,  you  have  falsified 
the  facts,  then — beware  of  me!" 
She  turned  upon  him  like  a  tigress. 
"  Beware  of  you!"  she  repealed,  with  impet- 
uous scorn ;  "  the  day  has  passed  for  me  to  do 
that — you  cannot  injure  me  more  than  you 
have  done.  Beware  of  you,  Lord  Brackleigh ! 
What  can  you  do  to  harm  me  t  You  have 
trampled  upon  my  love,  yon  have  tainted  my 
purity,  you  have  broken  my  spirit,  my  heart ; 
you  have  made  a  restless  wanderer,  you  have 
reduced  me  to  a  level  lower  than  any  to  which 
one  of  my  race  ever  sank  I  Why,  what  can 
you  do  to  me  ?  Slay  me,  perkaps  ;  it  would 
be  the  kindest  of  your  deeds  to  me.  Go  to, 
I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  you.  I  have  told 
you  only  the  truth,  and  you  shortly  will  have 
the  power  of  proving  what  I  have  stated  ;  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh  will  give  you  the  op- 
portunity." 

"The  Countess!"  ejaculated  the  Earl.  He 
did  not  like  the  mention  of  her  name  ;  it  told 
him  that  Hagar  knew  much  more  than  he 
could  have  given  her  credit  for. 

"  Ay,  the  Countess !"  she  rejoined.  "  Years 
since  she  had  your  child  in  her  possession. 
She  believed  it  to  be  your  child  then,  but  she 
was  in  no  position  to  prove  it.  Her  chances  to 
do  that  are  better  no  v,  and,  if  some  informa- 
tion which  I  have  this  night  received  be  true, 
she  has  again  contrived  to  get  her  into  her 
hands,  and,  if  so,  you  will  see  her,  you  will  rec- 

;  ognize  her,  and — " 

I  **  I  have  seen  her — I  have  recognized  her. 
She  bears  the  very  name  of  Edith  Plantage- 
netl"  cried  the  EarJ,  hoarsely,  half  frantically. 

t  "I  am  beside  myself  with  amazement,"  he 

/  added,  speaking  in  a  species  of  convulsive  so- 
liloquy ;  "  this  child  was  her  secret ;  she  never 
revealed  her  birth — its  existence — to  me.  Why, 
then,  give  it  the  name,  of  all  others,  which, 
joined  with  its  remarkable  resemblance  to  her- 
self, is  calculated  to  betray  her?  I  cannot 


comprehend  it.  It  has,  however,  brought  the 
situation  to  the  tnrning-point.  I  can  endure 
this  harassing  condition  of  excitement  and 
misery  no  longer.  I  will  eee  Constance  to- 
night. I  will  not  leave  these  grounds  until  1 
do  see  her.  Nay,  if  she  cornea  not  here,  I  will 
force  my  way  to  her  chamber- door.  I  have 
the  right  to  demand  explanations  from  her, 
and  I  will  do  it,  though  at  the  cost  of  a  pistol- 
bullet  through  my  brain  from  her  husband. 
When  I  do  see  her,  I  will  compel  her  to  reveal 
all  the  truth.  I  will  bring  her  before  her  own 
child— my  child.  I  will  make  it  before  both 
communicate  its  history,  with  all  its  incidents 
and  facts,  though  every  word  she  will  utter 
may  pierce  our  hearts  like  poisoned  barbs; 
then,  when  I  knew  all  from  the  mouths  of  both 
who  have  the  deepest  interest  in  confining 
themselves  to  the  strict  truth,  I  shall  know  the 
course  which  will  be  open  to  me  to  pursue,  I 
will  determine  upon  it,  and  act  promptly." 

"  After  the  interview  which  you  have  plan- 
ned?" said  Hagar,  gazing  steadfastly  at  him. 

"After  it,"  he  replied. 

"  What  if  the  Marquis  of  Weatchester  re- 
fuses to  permit  you  to  see  his  wife  ?"  she  said, 
with  a  bitter  smile. 

"  He  will  not  be  consulted,"  returned  the 
Earl,  haughtily  ;  "  but  I  shall  waste  no  more 
time  in  words.  You  have  told  me  that  you  are 
in  the  confidence  of  the  Marchioness  of  West- 
cheeter."  "  I  am,"  she  returned. 

"Has  she  ever  mentioned  my  name  to 
you  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Before  you  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Have  you  spoken  it  to  her !" 

"No!"  cried  Hagar,  vehemently.  "No! 
Should  I  have  retained  her  confidence,  think 
you,  if  I  had  let  fall  to  her  that  I  had  been 
your  victim?  You  know  little  of  women's 
natures,  my  lord,  if  you  think  that  they  will 
repose  confidence  in,  or  even  tolerate  the  pres- 
ence of  a  rival,  although  she  may  have  been 
the  victim  of  the  man  they  love.  No ;  the  Mar- 
chioness knows  only  that  I  am  a  gipsy,  with 
more  education  than  usually  falls  to  a  member 
of  my  tribe ;  that  I  am  possessed  of  greater 
power  than  any  of  them  ;  and  that  my  knowl- 
edge and  tact  are  of  a  higher  order  than  be- 
longs to  one  of  my  race.  I  know  her  secrets ; 
she  does  not  know  mine." 

The  Earl  did  not  ask  her  what  reason  she 
had  for  withholding  from  the  Marchioness  the 
history  of  her  wrongs,  and  the  name  of  the 
author  of  them.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to 
do  B*.  A  very  little  reflection  would  have 
told  him  that  she  was  not  likely  to  serve  Con- 
stance faithfully,  and  thai;  she  would  be  in- 
cluded in  her  scheme  of  vengeance,  whatever 
form  it  might  take.  Indeed,  the  only  impres- 
sion which  he  had  respecting  her  at  all  was, 
that  she  would  be  stormy,  would  vituperate, 
and  eventually  be  softened  down  and  quieted 
by  a  sum  of  money. 

He  greatly  wronged  Hagar  in  this  supposi- 
tion as  he  had  in  other  matters. 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  P30R  GIRL. 


125 


"  To  be  frank  with  you,"  he  said,  with  much 
earnestness  of  manner  ;  "  from  your  statement 
that  you  are  in  the  confidence  of  the  Mar- 
chioness, it  occurred  to  me  that  you  could  con- 
trive an  interview  between  us.  Whether  such 
ail  act  would  minister  to  your  plans  of  ven- 
geance, I  care  not — I  am  equally  indifferent 
whether  it  is  opposed  to  them.  I  will  eee  the 
Marchioness  at  all  risk ;  but  for  her  sake,  I 
wish  to  do  so  secretly,  without  being  observed. 
If  you  can  contrive  it,  whatever  injury  you 
may  through  it  do  me,  I  will  atill  thank  you 
heartily  and  sincerely.  I  do  not  see  how  you 
can  decline  to  accede  to  my  request,  for 
should  any  disturbance  ensue  through  your 
refusal,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  implicate  you, 
and—" 

"  Add  to  the  contempt  with  which  you  have 
already  inspired  me,"  interposed  Hagar,  half- 
turning  from  him  as  if  in  disgust.  Then  she 
added,  in  a  low,  gloomy  tone,  "  you  shall  see 
her  again.  It  will  euit  my  plans  that  you 
should  have  an  interview  with  her.  I  will  be 
as  frank  as  you.  I  am  anxious  that  you  should 
know  how  completely  without  hope  you  are 
are  of  shielding  yourself  from  disgrace,  shame, 
humiliation,  and  the  scorn  of  the  world.  Yet, 
withal,  I  would  not  have  you  die  yet;  and, 
therefore,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  would 
advise  you  not  to  partake  of  anything  what- 
soever to  eat  or  to  drink  while  in  the  presence 
of  the  Marchioness." 

"  Eat  or  drink — what  do  you  mean,  wom- 
an ?"  he  cried,  with  a  mystified  glare  at  her. 

"  This,"  responded  Hagar,  in  a  low,  marked, 
terribly  meaning  tone ;  "  that  the  Marchioness 
is  in  a  desperate  position,  and  must  play  a 
very  desperate  game:  every  word  yteu  will 
eay  to  her  will  urge  her  on  with  impetuous 
force.  She  can  neither  turn  nor  recede ;  she 
must  go  on.  Ycur  absence  from  the  world 
just  now  would  relieve  her  of  one  of  her  most 
serious  difficulties.  There  are  poisons  in  ex- 
istence, my  lord,  which  are  very  subtle,  very 
difficult  of  detection,  and  are  very  certain  in 
their  operation.  The  Marchioness  is  not  with- 
out them.  She  who  cares  not  for  the  comfort, 
the  welfare,  the  happiness,  nay,  the  life  of  her 
own  child,  will  not  be  over-scrupulous  about 
the  man  who  should  have  been  her  husband, 
and  was  not  honorable  enough  to  act  justly  to 
her.  Hark,  do  you  hear  that  measured  tread 
upon  the  gravel  path?— every  note  of  that 
footfall  should  beat  heavily  upon  your  heart. 
It  is  the  footstep  of  the  Marchioness  of  West- 
chester.  She  approaches  this  spot.  Conceal 
yourself  until  she  has  passed ;  then  follow  and 
address  her :  the  rest  is  in  your  hands  and 
hers.  I  shall  see  you  again  when  the  hour  of 
!  our  reckoning  Las  arrived." 

As  ehe  concluded  she  instantly  glided  from 
the  spot,  leaving  the  Earl  alone. 

He  hastily  moved  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
tree,  his  heart  at  the  same  time  beating  quickly 
and  violently. 

Ilagar's  communication  about  the  poison 
had  fearfully  disturbed  him.  "Was  it  pos- 
sible that  she  could  conceive  the  idea  of  mur- 


dering him?1'  he  asked  himself;  "if BO,  would 
it  be  possible  for  him  to  continue  to  love  a 
woman  with  a  nature  so  terrible  ?" 

As  the  thought  crossed  him,  a  shadow  fell 
upon  the  turf  at  his  feet.  He  looked  up  ;  the 
Marchioness  was  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 
She  did  net  discover  him  in  the  obscurity  in 
which  he  stood. 

He  recognized  her  stately  form  and  proud 
step  instantly.  She  appeared  to  be  in  a  fit  of 
deep  abstraction,  and  she  passed  slowly  on 
without  looking  around  her. 

He  laid  his  clanched  fist  upon  his  heart. 

"  Though  perdition  faces  me,  I  will  speak  ! 
with  her,"  he  muttered. 

With  a  light  step  he  emerged  from  bis  \ 
place  of  concealment,  and  followed  her  witk 
a  rapid  step. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  It  is  the  hour  when  from  the  boughB 

The  nightingale's  Ligh  note  is  Leard  ; 
It  is  the  hour  when  lo\  erb'  vows 
Ssem  sweet  in  every  whisper'd  word  ; 

Bat  it  is  not  to  listen  to  the  waterfall 
That  Parasina  leaves  her  ball, 
And  it  is  not  to  gaze  on  the  heavenly  light 
That  the  la'Jy  walks  in  the  shadow  of  night ; 
Aud  if  she  sits  in  E3te's  bower, 
It  Is  not  for  the  sake  of  the  full-blown  flower — 
*  *  *  • 

There  glides  a  siep  through  the  foliage  thick, 
And  her  cheek  grows  pale,  and  her  heart  beats  quick. 
There  whispers  a  voice—"  — BYROH. 

The  Marchioness  of  Westchester  returned  to 
England  to  face  her  fate — to  control  it,  or  to 
succumb  to  it. 

After  her  arrival,  she  was  not  permitted  to 
rest  in  a  state  of  perplexing  uncertainty. 
Events  hurried  her  along  so  fast,  she  quickly 
perceived  that  it  would  be  imperative  upon 
her  to  do  one  or  the  other. 

Mature  reflection,  however,  failed  to  point 
out  to  her  not  only  which  would  be  the  most 
proper  conrse  for  her  to  pursue,  but  which 
would  be  likely  to  prove  the  most  advantage- 
ous, as  well  as  the  moat  agreeable  to  her. 

Strangely  enough,  she  regarded  the  struggle 
which  went  on  in  her  mind  as  one  which  was 
waged  between  duty  and  inclination. 

Her  notion  of  duty  was  somewhat  peculiar 
— it  comprehended  a  faithful  adherence  to  the 
false  marriage -vow  she  had  taken  at  the  altar 
with  the  Marquis  of  Westchester,  and  the  reso- 
lute shutting  out  from  her  mind  of  all  sympa- 
thy for,  and,  if  possible,  all  recollection  of  her 
true  husband  and  her  child. 

To  follow  the  path  this  impression  of  her 
duty  pointed  out  to  her  would,  she  foresaw, 
involve  no  small  amount  of  firmness  and  of  in- 
exorable insensibility  to  the  pleadings  of  her 
womanly  sympathies.  It  would  involve,  also, 
a  system  of  plot  and  counterplot,  of  subter- 
fuge, and  a  systematic  and  sustained  effort  to 
destroy  every  kind  of  evidence  which  existed 
to  prove  the  circumstances  which,  if  known, 
would  be  fatal  to  her  present  position,  and, 
also,  any  which  might  hereafter  spring  up— 
in  truth,  it  was  hardly  possible  for  her  to 


126 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


imagine  what  Adherence  to  her  duty  would  en- 
tail. 

Her  inclination  urged  her  to  rejoin  her  legit- 
imate husband,  and  to  recover  her  long  de- 
serted child.  If  that  could  be  accomplished 
"•-  without  the  sneers  and  taunts  of  the  world, 
and  without  reviving  painful  memories,  she 
felt  that  fihe  would  not  hesitate  a  moment ; 
but  even  the  hasty  conception  of  the  first 
howl  of  contemptuous  amazement,  which  her 
flight  from  the  Marquis  wonld  raise,  made 
her  recoil  from  the  step.  To  let  matters  take 
their  course  was  plainly  impossible  ;  to  'move 
in  any  direction  seemed  to  make  crime  a  ne- 
cessity. 

It  wag  while  involved  in  the  mazes  of  her 
position  that  the  letter  from  Bertram  was 
handed  to  her  by  her  maid,  Fane,  and  ic  was 
not  without  a  severe  struggle  between  her  im- 
pression of  her  duty  and  her  inclination  that 
she  read  its  contents.  A  species  of  curiosity, 
which  was  a  part  of  her  woman's  nature,  to 
know  what  he  would  say,  allied  to  «•  fancy  that 
he  might  use  some  observations  without  in- 
tending it,  to  intimate  a  way  out  of  her  dilem- 
ma, prevailed  over  every  other  consideration, 
and  she  perneed  his  epietle. 

It  was  similar  to  the  one  which  he  had  cent 
to  her  while  she  was  staying  at  Baby  Hall.  It 
was  filled  with  urgings  to  grant  him  an  inter- 
view, repetitions  of  his  vows  of  adoration,  and 
promises  to  make  her  happier  than  she  could 
have  dreamed  «f  being,  even  when  they  were 
first  united.  But  he  omitted  to  appoint  the 
interview ;  he  left  to  her  the  naming  of  time 
and  place  for  their  zaeeting,  and  that  was  pre- 
cisely what  she  was  too  proud  to  do. 

She  read  his  note  through  a  dozen  times ; 
but  there  was  not  a  word  in  it  from  which  she 
could  extract  a  hint  by  which  she  could  decide 
upon  her  future  path — not  a  word  which  led 
her  to  form  a  higher  estimate  of  him  than  she 
had  when  she  parted  from  him. 

There  were  some  vague,  whining  threats  in 
his  epistle ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  evidence 
a  spirit  of  courageous  manliness  which  would 
be  likely  to  impel  him,  if  she  declined  to  elope 
with  him  in  secret,  to  step  forward  and  claim 
her,  in  spite  of  all  the  sacrifices  he  would  be 
called  upon  to  make,  and  in  defiance  of  the 
punishment  for  the  past  which  such  a  move- 
ment would  necessarily  draw  down  upon  him. 

If  there  had,  indeed,  been  such  a  spirit 
dwelling  within  his  breast,  he  would 'never 
have  suffered  her  to  have  withdrawn  herself 
from  him ;  he  would  never  have  played  the 
part  he  had  done. 

She  tore  his  letter  into  shreds  and  burned 
the  pieces;  she  tried  to  forget  that  she  had 
read  it,  but  in  vain  ;  she  strore  to  banish  him 
him  from  her  mind,  bat  without  success  :  even 
his  proposition  to  grant  him  an  interview 
haunted  her,  and  an  idea  began  to  dawn  upon 
her  that,  if  euch  an  interview  were  to  be  ever 
consented  to  by  her,  it  was  she  who,  after  all, 
would  have  to  fix  the  time  and  place,  for  she 
alone  knew  when  it  could  be  accomplished 
without  detection,  or  without  interruption. 


She  was  distracted  by  these  harassing 
thoughts,  and  was  greatly  disturbed,  likewise, 
by  a  fear  which  clung  to  her  that  she,  while 
with  the  Mirquis  some  evening  at  one  of  the 
numerous  assemblies  or  receptions  which  they 
attended,  should  encounter  the  Earl  of  Brack* 
leigh.  ? 

She  was  conscious,  when  at  euch  fashionable 
gathering?,  that,  closely  as  ehe  watched  every 
avenue,  outlet,  group  of  persons,  or  spot  where 
he  was  likely  to  be  met  with,  the  Marquia 
watched  them  more  sharply  and  more  eagerly 
than  herself,  and  she  had  a  nervous  apprehen- 
sion that  ho  intended  to  provoke  a  collision 
with  Bertram  if  he  encountered  him,  in  order 
to  extort  from  him,  if  possible,  the  circum- 
stances which  had  attended  his  early  connec- 
tion with  his  Marchioness. 

It  was  not  possible  that  such  thoughts  in- 
cessantly passing  through  her  brain  should  not 
have  their  due  effect  upon  her  nerves.  She 
began  to  grow  full  of  fancies,  to  feel  depressed 
in  spirits,  to  possess  a  disinclination  to  move 
abroad,  to  decline  invitations,  to  feel  ill  at  ease 
anywhere  except  in  her  own  room.  She  would 
start  at  the  sound  of  a  voice,  her  heart  would 
leap  at  a  knock  at  her  chamber  door,  and  the 
fingers  of  any  person  laid  unexpectedly  upon 
her  arm  caused  a  cold  shudder  to  pass  through 
her  frame. 

She  saw  that  the  Marquis  suffered  equally 
with  herself.  She  could  not  fail  to  ee-e  how 
thin  he  had  become,  how  haggard,  and  how 
pale  his  face  wag,  while  his  eyes  were  like 
fiery  meteors,  which  eeemed  to  be  gradually 
consuming  all  his  vital  power,  and  to  grow 
brighter  as  they  drew  nearer  to  annihilation. 

He  merely  spoke  to  her ;  he  knew  that, 
whatever  might  have  been  the  case,  he  had  no 
cause  now  to  be  jealous  of  her,  and  he  ex- 
hibited toward  her  none  of  that  haughty  ina- 
periousness  which  he  had  felt  compelled  to 
use  when  his  mind  was  racked  with  doubt, 
and  which  she  had  returned  with  such  interest. 
He  was  simply  cold  and  distant  tocher,  frigidly 
cerem  jnious,  and  a3  little  alone  with  her  as  he 
could  contrive  to  be. 

As  ehe  contracted  her  visits  to  her  fashion- 
able acquaintances,  so  she  diminished  her  car- 
riage-drives, until  ehe  almost  passed  her  time 
in  her  own  suit  of  apartments,  varied  only 
occasionally  by  a  promenade  in  tke  exquis- 
itely laid  out  giounds  attached  to  Westchester 
House. 

Since  her  return  to  England,  Hagar  Lot  had 
contrived  to  obtain  access  to  her,  and  had  had 
repeated  interviews  with  her.  She  had  not 
assisted  to  calm  her  mind;  for  she  had  inform- 
ed her  ot  Floret's  escape  from  school,  her  ap- 
pearance at  the  gipsy  camp,  her  subsequent 
urimpeded  departure  from  thence,  and  ot  her 
journey  to  London,  where,  she  informed  her, 
ehe  was  at  that  moment  residing,  although  she 
was  unable  then  to  say  in  what  part. 

Hagar,  too,  enlarged  upon  Floret's  growth, 
form,  face,  accomplishments,  and  her  mental 
qualifications.  She  predicted  for  her  a  shori 
career  of  vice  and  horror  in  London,  unleau 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


127 


she  were  sent  to  Australia  or  New  Zealand, 
where  she  might  contract  a  marriage  with 
eorue  honest  eettler,  and  there  pass,  in  quiet 
obscurity,  the  remainder  of  her  life, 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  inward  emo- 
tioss  which  the  Marchioness  suffered,  she  did 
not  betray  them  outwardly.  She  lietened  to 
Hagar  in  haughty  silence,  and,  when  she  had 
finished,  she  bade  her  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements, as  soon  as  she  had  discovered 
Floret,  to  send  her  to  one  of  the  colonies 
which  she  had  named,  and  she  promised  to 
furnish  the  means. 

Hagar,  who  had  used  every  word  she  could 
select  which  was  calculated  to  make  the 
Marchioness  wince  and  quiver  with  wounded 
pride,  waa  unable  to  detect  the  bitter  pain 
those  words  inflicted  upon  her  ;  for  she  stood 
motionless,  with  eyes  fasteEcd  upon  the  car- 
pet, end,  while  she  listened,  neither  spoke, 
moved,  nor  looked  at  her  until  she  had  fin- 
ished, and  then  she  turned  coldly  from  her, 
making,  in  brief  terms,  the  promise  already 
named. 

She  macfe  Hagar  feel  as  though  she  was 
asking  of  her  a  favor  for  some  one  in  whom 
she  had  taken  a  great  interest,  and  that  she 
granted  it  ia  an  icy,  patroniziug  way. 

Hagar  felt  that  Constance  hated  and  loathed 
her,  that  she  instinctively  shrank  from  her,  al- 
though she  had  been  of  service  to  her,  and 
might  etill  be.  She  assumed  that  it  was  the 
very  nature  of  the  service  which  she  had  per- 
formed, end  the  secrets  of  hers  whioh  she  pos- 
sessed, which  had  aroused  the  feeling  of  dis- 
like ;  but  in  this  she  was  wrong.  Constance 
could  not  have  explained  why  she  entertained 
EO  decided  an  antipathy  to  her.  She  only 
knew  that  ehe  felt  the  same  aversion  to  her  as 
she  would  to  any  one  who.  had  done  her  a 
great  wrong. 

It  was  that  unspoken,  intuitive  perception 
with  which  Nature  has  endowed  women, 
wkich  told  JLer  she  had  crossed  her  path,  and 
would  cross  it  somewhere,  somehow — she 
could  not  imagine  ho?r ;  certainly  siie  did  not 
dream  it  was  as  a  rival. 

On  this  very  evening  on  which  tie  Earl  of 
Brackkigh  had  encountered  Hagar,  supposing 
that  she  was  the  Marchioness,  she  had  just 
quitted  the  latter,  after  what  would  have 
proved  a  very  stormy  interview  between  any 
other  two  women. 

But  then  the  Marchioness  was  high-bred, 
and  in  addressing  a  person  whom  she  assumed 
to  be  greatly  her  inferior,  ehe  would  not  per- 
mit hereelf  to  display  temper.  Hagar  was 
anxious  to  precipitate  her  into  the'  commission 
of  some  kind  of  crime  for  which  the  law  ad- 
mitted of  no  extenuation.  The  Marchioness 
had  never  communicated  any  of  her  plans 
(save  for  the  disposal  of  Floret)  to  Hagar,  and 
she  never  intended  to  do  so,  and  when  the  lat- 
ter became  conscious  that,  save  in  one  matter, 
the  Marchioness  had  confided  to  her  nothing, 
she  offered  suggestions  which  were  listened  to 
and  coldly  declined.  Hagar  taunted  her,  and 
in  language  Buck  as  the  Marcliioness  had  not 


heard  her  use,  it  wao  ao  much  above  her  ap- 
parent station,  but  she  only  moved  the  latter 
to  reply  in  similar  tones  ;  both  were  haughty 
and  stern  in  their  manner,  sarcastic,  and,  upon 
the  part  of  the  Marchioness,  contemptuous,  ia 
their  allusions  to  each  otb^r,  and,  at  length, 
the  Marchioness  terminated  the  scene,  which 
she  had  conducted  with  cold  dignity,  by  ab- 
ruptly quitting  the  apartment,  and  leaving 
Hagar  alone.  The  latter  had  stood  all  the 
time  like  a  marble  statue,  and  had  spoken 
throughout  in  an  undertone,  making  furious 
suggestions,  M'hich  were  of  a  fiendish  charac- 
ter. Not  the  most  scornful  taunt  which  the 
Marchioness  addressed  to  her  appeared  to 
make  any  change  in  her  imjMwsible  demeanor ;  , 
her  eyes  only  occasionally  gleamed  and  glared, 
as  if  they  weVe  lighted  up  by  some  internal 
flame,  and  when  the  Marchioness,  with  an  im- 
perious bearing,  swept  from  the  room,  Hagar 
followed  her  only  with  her  eyes  until  she  dis- 
appeared. 

Her  lips  moved  for  an  instant ;  and  then  she 
too,  glided  away  to  the  garden,  where,  most 
unexpectedly,  she  met  the  man  who,  from  a 
bright,  high-spirited,  noble-hearted  girl,  had 
converted  her  into  what  she  then  was. 

Although  the  Marchioness  had  quitted  her 
with  an  otfended  air,  she  bore  with  her  a  sug- 
gestion which  Hagar  had  submitted  to  her, 
and  which  now  rankled  and  tossed  most  un- 
easily and  painfully  in  her  mind. 

Hagar  had  alluded  to  the  care-worn  aspect 
which  the  countenance  of  the  Marchioness 
wore.  She  called  it  a  cloud  upon  her  sunehine. 
She  reminded  her  of  a  conversation  which  they 
had  had  at  Raby  Hall,  and  in  a  meaning  tone. 
Baid  that  the  potion  which  she  had  tLen  hand- 
ed to  her  was  as  potent  in  removing  the  cloud 
which  obscured  her  happiness  as  it  was  to  bear 
her  into  the  regions  of  eternity. 

The  Marchioness  sternly  rebuked  her  for 
her  horrible  suggestion,  but  it  remained  upper- 
most in  her  mind — it  worried,  harried  her, 
She  could  not  endure  her  chamber.  She  felt 
as  though  invisible  hancls  wera  dragging  her 
toward  her  escritoire,  and  unable  to  endure 
the  etruggle  it  cost  her  to  ke*p  herself  away 
from  it,  she  rushed  into  tke  garden  tc- 
breathe. 

The  air  of  her  chamber  sesmed  to  be  laden, 
with  the  dank,  earthy  odor  of— a  vegetable 
poison. 

Once  in  the  garden,  and  in  the  free,  freeh 
air,  pacing  its  graveled  walks  with  her  usual 
stately  bearing  and  queenly  step,  she  felt  her-  - 
self  able  to  think,  to  wish  that  the  Marquis  had 
never  been,  and  that  Bertram  had — always — 
even  as  when  lie  first  bent  his  mouth  close  to 
her  burning  cheek  and  whispered  fond  and 
passionate  words  to  her. 

It  was  a  terrible  train  of  thought,  for  it  made 
the  one  man  appear  as  a  dark,  Hateful  impedi- 
ment to  her  happiness  ;  and  the  other,  an  ob- 
ject it  would  be  bliss  to  her  to  pass  the  rest  of 
ner  life  with. 

As  this  thought  rested  upon  her  brain  on. 
its  elow  way  through  it,  a  quick  step  fell  upon 


128 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


her  ear ;  a  sharp,  firm  grip  caught  her  wrist ; 
a  low,  hoarse  voice  whispered  in  her  car : 

«'  Constance !" 

She  tarnetl  Jike  lightning. 

Within  ft  foot  of  her  own  was  the  faca  of  the 
man  who  was  then  in  her  thoughts — Bertram, 
EarlofBrackleigh! 

She  did  not  ecream,  she  <*id  not  faint,  she 
did  notetrnggle  to  fling  off  hia  vioe-like  clutch. 
She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  felt  as 
if  her  whole  frame,  nerves,  veks,  blood,  were 
changing  into  ice. 

For  an  instant  she  was  like  one  who  had 
passed  the  boundary  of  life,  and  had  entered 
npon  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

She  lost  all  recollection,  all  sense,  feeling, 
touch.  4 

For  that  one  instant  the  world  was  a  void  to 
htir. 

The  next  she  was  conscious  of  a  white  face 
clwse  to  her  own ;  of  a  hoarse,  hissing,  gibber- 
ing 5n  her  ear ;  of  the  shadows  of  dark  trees — 
of— -0,  God !  the  terrible  words  from  the  lips 
•ef  o  j  j  from  whom  she  had  been  parted  for 
years  > 

"  W^Hian,  I  am  your  husband !" 

Then,,  indeed,  she  had  a  terrible  struggle 
with  her  i motions  ;  but  her  power  of  self-con- 
trol, exeiUd  with  a  passionate  effort,  pre- 
vailed. 

She  gaspvd  for  breath  for  a  moment  or  twe, 
and  then,  obtaining  the  mastery  over  her  ar- 
ticulation, eht»  said,  in  a  low,  but  clear  tone  : 

"  Release  m** !    I  will  listen  to  TOU  !" 

" Release  yo*,  Constance!  What— to  fly 
me,  to  summon  IWip,  to  bring  about  that  meet- 
ing in  which  I,  or  the  man  whose  name  you 
bear,  muct inevitably  fall!" 

"  Bertram,"  she  sud,  in  the  same  tone  which 
was  audible,  though  uttered  so  faintly,  "  if  you 
gremember  what  I  was,  you  will  not  hesitate  to 
do  that  which  I  ask  of  you.  You  know  that  I 
«5id  not  fear  you ;  I  am  unchanged.  I  do  not 
fear  you  now." 

"  But"— 

"  Hesitate— and  I  will  pour  forth  shriek 
upon  shriek,  in  such  rapid  succession,  that 
your  detention  will  continue  to  be  the  act  of 
less  than  a  minute  more !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
determined  emphaeis.  "  I  have  said  I  will 
listen  to  you — when  did  I  ever  break  my  word 
to  you  ?'» 

"  Never— never— never !"  he  replied,  rapid- 
ly, and  with  emotion.  "  O  Constance — Con- 
stance !  how  bitterly,  how  ruthlessly,  yon  have 
punished  me  for  my  seeming  indifference  to 
yon" — 

'*  Say  freezing  indifference !"  she  interposed, 
with  an  earnestness  equal  to  his  own.  "  Such 
a  freezing  indifference  that  it  froze  the  first 
and  passionate  love  of  a  young,  unworldly 
heart  into  a  mass  of  impenetrable  ice,  such  as 
it  has  remained,  even  as  it  is." 

"  But  I  was  young — a  fool,  mad,  blind,  Con- 
stance !"  he  rejoined,  excitedly.  "  O  Heaven ! 
if  you  had  but  reflected — if  you  had  but  rea- 
soned with  me — if  you  had  not  leaped  to  a 
false  conclusion,  and  acted  upon  that  conclu- 


sion, what  years  of  surpassing  happiness  we 
might  have  both  enjoyed — what  ye*ra  of  bliss 
might  be  yet  before  us !" 

A  smile  of  paiu  and  bitterness  moved  her 
lips. 

"  You  forget,"  she  said,  with  a  sneer,  which 
she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal,  "  that  I  was 
young,  a  fool,  mad,  blind.  I  awcke  to  con- 
sciousness ;  I  did  reflect ;  I  did  reason  with 
you.  You  know  the  result." 

"But,  good  God,  Constance,  hovr  did  you 
reason  with  me  ? '  he  expostulated. 

"  Ask  your  own  heart  that  answered  me," 
she  returned,  turning  from  him. 

"No — by  my  soul! — no,  it  did  not!"  he 
cried,  with  energy. 

"  What!"  she  exclaimed,  turning  upon  him 
fiercely ;  "  do  you  tell  me  that  your  heart 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  arrangement  at 
which  you  jumped  with  such  alacr.ty — an  ar- 
rangement which  you  knew  would  part  us  for- 
ever ?" 

"I  have  already  told  you,  Constance,  that 
you  kave,.from  the  first  instant  you  conceived 
the  notion  that  I  did  not  really  love  yon,  mis- 
understood my  character!"  she  exclaimed, 
earnestly.  She  turned  from  him,  impatiently. 

"  I  repeat  it!"  he  said,  vehemently.  "  Re- 
member what  was  my  position,  and  what  was 
yours,  at  that  time.  You  were  the  daughter 
of  an  enermously  wealthy  man,  proud  of  his 
position  and  his  descent,  who  would  have  lis- 
tened to  no  offer  for  your  hand  unless  it  came 
from  a  duke,  or,  at  least,  an  earl.  You  knew 
then,  that,  had  you  wedded  one  beneath  the 
rank  which  I  have  named,  and  without  his 
consent,  you  knew  he  would  never  have  re- 
ceived you  again,  and  would  not  have  left  you 
a  penny." 

"  Knowing  that,  I  gave  my  hand  to  you," 
she  said,  emphatically. 

"  Ay,"  he  answered  quickly,  "  but  in  secret, 
and  you  preserved  that  secret  closely.  You 
must  remember,  too,  that  had  I  avowed  the 
marriage  that  we  had  contracted  to  my  father, 
he,  finding  that  you,  though  of  birth  equal  to 
that  of  any  woman  he  could  have  desired  as 
an  alliance  for  me,  were  without  fortune,  would 
have  acted  with  the  same  harshness  to  me  that 
Mr.  Plaatagenet,  your  father,  would  have  dis- 
played to  you.  We  both  were  conscious  that 
an  avowal  of  our  marriage  would  have  prompt- 
ly plunged  us  into  penury,  and  to  preserve  it 
secret  was  simply  a  piece  of  prudent  policy. 
As  a  mere  piece  of  common  sense,  I  was  then 
too  truly  fond  of  you  to  desire  to  place  you  in 
a  position  in  which  you  would  have  had  to 
suffer  pecuniary  straits,  which  were  up  to  that 
time  unknown  to  you ;  but  I  hoped  that  the 
day  would  come  when  I  should  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  proudly,  most  proudly,  acknowledge 
you  to  the  world  as  my  wife,  and  with  the  as- 
sent and  approbation  of  your  family  and — " 

"  And  with  this  hope  you  married  the  rich 
daughter  of  a  railway  navigator,"  she  inter- 
posed, scornfully. 

He  raised  his  hand  deprccatingl^  and  con- 
tinued speaking  with  emphasis. 


OE,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


129 


"Remember,  Constance,"  he  said,  raising 
his  hand  deprecatingly  ;  "that,  at  the  period 
of  which  we  are  speaking,  I  never  thwarted 
you  in  any  wish  that  you  expressed,  any  ca- 
price that  you  formed,  any  intention  you  an- 
nounced to  me,  however  much  I  might  in  my 
heart  have  been  opposed  to  either.  You  must 
recollect  that  you  never  consulted  me  in  any 
matter ;  you  never  exhibited  a  disposition  to 
I  do  so.  You  may  have  acquainted  me  with 
'  some  design  you  had  in  your  head  ;  but  you 
never  asked  for  my  approbation  or  dissent. 
You  carried  it  out.  Well,  if  you  formed  an 
impression  that  I  was  selfish,  that  I  consulted 
only  my  own  pleasures,  my  own  wishes,  my 
own  interests,  what  opportunity  did  you  give 
me  to  regard  you  in  any  other  light  ?  You 
acted  independent  of  me  to  the  last." 

"  You  should  have  spoken  out,  then,"  she 
exclaimed,  quickly. 

"  What  held  you  back  from  then  laying  bare 
your  heart  to  me,  if,  as  you  say,  you  loved  me 
with  your  whole  soul  ?"  he  asked,  in  as  eager 
a  tone. 

•'  What  ?"  she  exclaimed,  scornfully.  "  What 
held  me  back  ?  Pride !  Would  you  have  had 
me  fall  upon  my  knees  before  you,  when  I 
found  that  you  were  ready  to  give  me  up,  as 
if  I  were  a  garment  to  be  discarded,  and  say  : 
*  Pray,  love  me  still ;  what  I  have  suggested  is 
only  a  subterfuge  to  try  whether  you  really 
love  me?"' 

"What  think  you,  then,  held  me  back?" 
he  demanded,  in  his  turn,  with  evident  warmth. 
"Why,  pride,  too!"  Constance,  do  you  not 
think  that  I  was  wholly  confounded  by  your 
proposition,  that  I  did  not  listen  to  yon  with 
bewildered  amazement,  that  I  did  not  eay  to 
to  myself:  'This  creature,  whom  I  have 
thought  to  be  one  of  Heaven's  masterpieces, 
with  a  nature  pure,  guileless,  loving,  and  trust- 
ful, is  utterly  hear.less  ?  She  proposes  to  dis- 
unite hersalf  to  me,  Laving  consented  to  be 
bound,  and  having  bound  herself,  in  the  holiest 
bonds  which  could  connect  us  together  in  life, 
as  calmly  as  though  she  were  about  to  suggest 
a  brief  separation  for  the  purpose  of  pleasure- 
travel,  and  she,  therefore,  cannot  care  for  me 
one  straw.  She  does  not,  and,  in  all  probabil 
ity,  iiever  did  love  me!'  Do  you  think  that 
I  was  not  stung  into  silence  by  your  proposi- 
tion, that  I  did  consent  to  its  provisions  like 
one  in  a  dream,  that,  heart-crushed  by  the  past, 
reckless  of  the  future,  I  took  the  fatal  step 
which  has  utterly  destroyed  my  happiness,  and 
induced  me  t®  trample  upon  that  of  one  other 
being  whom  I  now  feel,  bitterly,  I  ought  not 
to  have  dragged  down  from  a  position  of  honor 
and  felicity,  to  one  of  misery  aad  degrada- 
tion?" 

"  You  speak  of  Lady  Brackleigh,"  observed 
the  Marchioness,  with  a  sneer. 

"1  do!"  ho  said,  firmly. 

a  It  is  a  pity,"  she  added,  in  the  same  tone, 
"  that  you.  who  are  so  tender  of  her  honor, 
were  not  as  tenacious  of  that  of  others,  even  of 
your  own." 

"  I  thought  less  of  my  honor  than  of  grati- 


fying your  wishes,  even  to  an  extentwhich  haa 
c  eprived  us  both  of  happiness !"  with  an  evi- 
dent desire  to  impress  upon  her  that  his  con- 
duct in  agreeing  to  a  separation  from  her  was 
guided  by  a  desire  to  gratify  her  wish  in  every- 
thing. 

She  shook  her  head  doubtingly,  although 
she  would  have  heen  glad  to  have  believed  that 
euch  was  the  case — ay,  even  though  she  knew 
that  such  a  belief  would  have  added  to  the 
misery  of  her  position. 

"  You  should  have  had  faith  in  my  truth- 
fulness, Bertram !"  she  exclaimed,  in  "a  more 
pensive  tone  than  she  had  yet  used;  "you 
would  then  have  questioned  me  closely,  and 
have  elicited  enough  to  have  saved  both  from 
the  horrors  of  our  present  position." 

"  Your  truthfulness,  Constance !"  he  respond- 
ed, in  a  tone  which  made  her  wince  and  start 
as  though  he  had  drawn  a  sharp  knife  across 
her  heart. 

There  was  something  so  sarcastic,  so  ques- 
tioning in  its  expression,  that  she  could  not 
help  looking  upon  him  with  a  gaze  of  indig- 
nant wonder. 

"  You  appear  to  question  my  truthfulness  I" 
she  said,  with  compressed  lips ;  "  surely  you 
have  tested  it  within  the  last  ten  years,  and 
should  speak  of  it  in  terms  of  commendation." 

"  We  were  speaking  of  a  period  yet  farther 
back,  Constance,'"'  he  said,  dryly. 

"  Yet  farther  back !"  she  repeated,  turning 
her  flashing  eyes  upon  him.  "  What  would 
you  dare  insinuate  ?" 

"  Insinuate  nothing !"  he  exclaimed,  sudden- 
ly seizing  her  hand,  and  speaking  in  an  im- 
pressive tone.  "  Constance,  you  are  my  wife 
in  the  eyes  of  God ;  you  were  made  my  wife 
before  the  altar  of  God,  by  a  Divine  law,  which 
ia  rendered  sacred  by  human  laws.  Now  con- 
vince me  of  your  truthfulness,  and  answer  me 
with  the  truth  only,  before  that  God  who  now 
looks  down  upon  us,  and  in  whose  presence 
we  must  some  day  together  stand — answer  ine 
before  Him  and  as  my  wife!" 

She  drew  back  from  him  amazed, not  fearing 
— astounded,  not  terrified.  She  had  no  con- 
ception of  the  nature  of  the  question  he  was 
about  to  put  to  her,  and  she  marveled  at  hia 
tone,  for  he  had  said  that  he  was  about  to 
speak  to  her  of  a  time  anterior  to  her  marriage 
with  the  Marquis. 

She  was  not  long  kept  in  bewilderment 

He  spuke  with  rapid  and  passionate  earnest- 
ness : 

•'  You  will  remember,  Constance,"  he  said, 
his  voice  quivering  as  he  spoke,  "  that  some 
few  months  after  we  were  married,  you  com- 
plained of  a  slight  indisposition — " 

"  It  is  oo  far  back." 

"  Your  pardon,  do  not  interrupt  me.  You 
complained,  I  say,  of  being  ill,  of  suffering 
from  an  attack  of  nervous  debility.  You  con- 
sulted, you  told  me,  a  physician  who  had  rec-  i 
ommended  to  you  change  of  air.  He  had  sug- 
gested the  south  of  France.  Nice,  Italy,  even 
Madeira,  but  you  found  objections  to  ail  these 
places.  The  reasons  with  which  you  furnish- 


130 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


ed  me  were,  that  the  distance  of  each  from 
London  was  BO  great,  it  would  entail  too  loog 
and  t.to  wide  a  separation  from  me  ;  and  you 
mentioned  Beachboroq^h  Abbey.  By  Hea- 
vens !  you  Ht.n  t !  I  will  not  release  you — not 
thong  i  jon  break  your  wrist  in  your  efforts  to 
wrench,  your  hand"  from  mine.  You  must — 
you  shall  l}ear  me,  and  answer  me  now.  Ay, 
and  truthfully,  too." 

Constance  grew  as  pale  as  ashes  and  as  cold 
as  death,  and  trembled  like  an  aspen.  It  was 
in  vain  that  she  exerted  herself  to  appear 
calm.  A  ter  her  first  attempt  to  wrest  her 
hand  from  his,  all  strength,  all  power  to  strug- 
gle even  to  support  herself,  eeeined  to  have 
left  her. 

She  was  both  amazed  and  terrified  now,  for 
she  had  a  fearful  presentiment  of  what  was 
coming. 

Bertram,  finding  her  apparently  motionless, 
presumed  that  ebe,  on  discovering  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  struggle  with  him,  decided 
that  is  would  be  beat  to  remain  quiet:  he 
therefore,  almost  fiercely : 

44  You,  I  say,  mentioned  Beachborough  Ab- 
bey as  the  place  in  which  you  would  prefer  to 
take  up  your  abode  for  a  time.  You  proceed- 
ed thither.  You  stayed  there  for  a  few 
months.  Yo*a  took  with  you  only  your  confi- 
dential maid  and  foster-sister,  Shelley.  While 
thtre,  woman— wife — you  had  a  child." 

She  groaned,  and  swayed  to  and  fro,  as  if 
she  would,  but  for  his  firm  grasp  of  her  hand, 
fall  senseless  upon  the  ground. 

'*  You  had  a  child,  Constance — my  child  and 
yours,"  fce  repeated,  with  vehemence,  though 
in  an  undertone.  "  Answer  me  truthfully,  as 
you  hope  for  the  salvation  of  your  soul,  was  it 
not  EO?" 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  observed  Lady 
Westcheeter saunter  in  this  direction?"  sud- 
denly exclaimed  a  voice  near  to  them. 

"  Quite  positive,  my  Lord,"  replied  a  female 
voics. 

*'  Then  her  ladyship  must  be  somewhere 
near  this  spat,"  continued  the  first  voice. 

"  Almighty  Heavtn!"  gasped  the  Marchion- 
ess, with  a  sadden  spasm  of  fright.  "  Shield 
me,  Bertram.  It  is  the  Marquij  I" 

Bertram  shifted  sullenly  his  hand  from  its 
hold  of  hers ;  he  grasped  her  round  the  waist, 
drawing  her  to  his  breast,  and  with  an  air  of 
desperation,  he  turned  to  face  the  advancing 
pseudo-husband  of  his  wife. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
"  Love  is  a  fervent  fire 
Kindled  by  hot  desire; 
For  a  short  pleasure, 
Long  displeasure, 
Repentance,  is  the  hire ; 
A  poor  treasure 
Wi:hout  measure; 
Love  is  a  fet vent  fire. 
Lo  !  what  it  is  to  love !" 

—SIB  THOMAS  WTATT. 
O  those  few  dreadful  moments  I 
The  Marchioness  stood  cloee  to  Bertram ; 
eo  close  that  bhe  could  feel  the  beating  of  his 
heart. 


In  the  imminence  of  her  peril  she  was  con- 
scious of  that. 

The  certainty  that  there  would  within  an  in- 
stant's time  be  a  terrible  eclaircisscmcnt,  a 
wild,  stormy  alterca'ion,  a  sant^uioary  combat, 
did  Dot  BO  itbaorb  bar  attention  th»t  the  vio- 
lent pulsation  throbbing  againet  her  sniveling 
shoulder  etcuped  her  notice. 

She  knew  that  it  was  hia  heart  whose  vibra- 
tions were  so  perceptible  to  her  tbat  sbe  could 
scarce  have  counted  them,  and  the  knowledge 
thrdled  her,  even  to  the  marrow. 

Yee,  she  Bcood  with  her  first  love,  half- 
embraced,  expecting  each  moment  to  be  dis- 
covered by  the  man  whose  marriage  with  her 
she  had  converted  into  the  most  humiliating 
shame. 

They  stood  quite  in  the  shadow  of  an  enor- 
mous arbutus,  and  tney  stood  silent  and  mo- 
tionless. 

Constance  heard  the  measured  step  of  the 
Marquis;  she  knew  its  sound;  she  detected, 
too,  by  the  tone  of  his  voice,  that  he  was  in 
an  angry,  bitter  mood — a  mood  which  would 
make  the  discovery,  which  she  felt  to  be  on 
the  eve  of  taking  place,  only  yet  more  terri- 
ble. 

Nearer  and  nearer  he  came;  the  gravel 
crackled  and  grated  beneath  his  foot  as  he 
stepped.  She  saw  his  shadow  fall  on  the  grass 
where  they  were  standing  like  statues,  breath- 
less and  erect — not  crouching,  though  that 
might  have  been  the  more  fitting  attitude  for 
them. 

Nearer  s'.ill  and  nearer  moved  the  shadow 
toward  them.  She  felt  cold  and  sick. 

Another  moment  the  Marquia  stood  before 
her,  and  turned  his  face  to  her. 

A  wild,  maddened  shiiek  trembled  upon  her 
lips,  but  ere  it  could  quit  them  the  Marquia 
turned  hia  face  awsy  and  passed  on  beyond 
them  out  of  their  eight. 

They  had  looked  out  from  a  spot  obscured 
by  deep  shadows,  and  they  Raw  him  wiih  hor- 
rify irg  distinctness;  he  looked  into  darkness, 
and  saw— nothing. 

He  was  naturally  rear  sighted,  and  his  eye- 
eight  was  not  so  good  now  as  it  had  been.  The 
obscurity  into  which  he  gazed,  into  which,  in- 
deed, he  seemed  to  peer  with  a  penetrating 
look,  was  a  mere  void,  a  blank  blackness. 

Still  another  footstep,  accompanied  by  the 
rustle  of  a  drees. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  Marchioness' 
maid,  Fate,  appeared. 

She,  too,  looked  into  the  obscurity,  and 
started— she  placed  a  finger  upon  her  lipe, 
and  parsed  on. 

She  had  seen  him.  She  knew  that  the  Earl 
was  in  the  garden,  for  she  had  given  Nat  a 
key  of  one  of  the  gates  for  him,  but  she  did 
not  know  the  precise  spot  in  which  he  bad  ee- 
creted  himself.  She  was  very  anxious,  how- 
ever, to  discover  it,  for  she  had  a  fear  that,  if 
the  Earl  were  to  be  found  in  the  girden,  when 
the  subsequent  investigations  took  phce  ehe 
would  be  implicated  in  the  affair,  and  punish- 
ed in  some  awful  manner. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


131 


Bfour  she  knew  the  epot,  and  the  fact  that 
the  Earl  and  the  Marehionees  were  together, 
she  resolved  to  conduct  the  M.*rquis  in  such  a 
direction  that  he  would  not  only  not  return  to 
the  piice  wkere  they  were  concealed,  but 
that  e ue  would  drive  him  off  the  scent  alto- 
gether. 

She,  therefore,  talked  to  him  in  rather  a 
loud  tone  of  voice,  which  he  reproved,  but 
without  effect,  and  Constance  and  Bertram 
were  therelore  enabled  to  teJl,  by  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  the  direction  the  Mirquis  was  tak- 
ing, and  how  far  he  was  from  them. 

It  was  a  narrow  escape,  and  they  both  knew 
it  to  be  such  ;  and  ween  ihe  sound  of  Fane's 
voice  died  away,  they  both  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  relief. 

Impulsively  the  Earl  drew  her  to  his  breast, 
and  passionately  embraced  her.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  yielded  her  form  to  the  pressure  of 
his  encircling  arms  ;  and  then,  with  a  hoarse 
cry,  she  broke  away  from  him,  and  bury- 
ing ber  face  in  her  hands,  she  stood  shudder- 
ing. 

He  would  once  more  have  twined  his  arms 
about  her  waist,  and  have  breathed  soft  ac- 
cents in  her  ear,  but  she  passionately  flung 
his  hand  away,  drew  hereelf  up  erect,  and 
faced  him. 

"  Let  me  pass,"  she  said,  in  unsteady  tones, 
though  she  would  fain  have  spoken  with  firm- 
ness and  decision.  "  We  have  already  in- 
curred a  dreadful  risk,  do  not  let  •  us  provoke 
Fate." 

**  No  1"  he  responded  ;  "  for  years  I  have 
Bought  to  conciliate  Fate,  a  d  have  failed.  I 
am  prepared  now  to  dare  and  defy  it.  You 
cannot  lea  «  me  until  we  have  at  least  cleared 
•ap  one  strange  mystery,  still  existing  between 
you  and  me,  between  whom  there  should  be 
no  secrets.  I  have  epoken  to  you  respecting 
your  illness  at  Beachborough  Abbey — " 

" Bertram  1"  she  cried,  excitedjy ;  "from 
the  firsc  moment  we  met,  you  have  beeneelfish 
to  the  last  degree.  Mercilessly  so.  Show  me 
some  mercy  now,  and  let  me  Jeave  you." 

41 1  cannot— nay,  I  will  not!''  he  cried,  with 
closed  teeth  ;  "  not  if  Westehester  were  here, 
and  demanded  you  from  me.  I  must,  and  I 
will  know  tae  truth  of  thia  strange  matter,  and 
from  your  lips." 

"You  will  drive  me  frantic !"  she  exclaim- 
ed. 

"  I  am  desperate,"  he  returned,  with  a  kind 
of  starn  ferocity. 

"  You  make  me  desperate,  *.oo,"  she  utter- 
ed, in  a  low  tone,  which  curiously  resembled 
his  own. 

"  Be  it  so.    It  is  well  that  we  should  know 
each  other's  mood,"  he  answered.    '*  Speak 
I  have  put  to  you  a  question — answer  it!" 

"What  question!"  she  demanded,  with  an 
expression,  and  in  a  voice  he  did  not  like. 

"  I  have  told  you,  that  you,  while  suffering 
from  an  artaek  of  illness,  proceeded  to  Beach 
borough  Abbey." 

"  I  have  Lot'denied  that" 
"  And  that  while  there—" 


"  You  will  repent,  Bertram,  having  subject- 
ed me  to  this  humiliating  examination." 

"I  will  repent  nothing,  but  having  suffered 
fou  to  leave  me,  to  enter  upon,  and  to  drag 
me  with  you,  into  thia  most  damnable  drama, 
n  which  we  have  acted  the  principal  charac- 
ters !"  he  cried,  evidently  deeply  excited.  **  I 
nsist  upon  your  answering  ine,  and  doing  so 
truthfully." 

"  Proceed !''  she  answered,  in  an  icy  tone. 

"  I  tell  you,  that  while  at  Beach  borough  Ab- 
bey you  were  delivered  of  a  child — our  child, 
onstance.     Speak,  I  entreat  you  ;   this  ia 
true,  is  it  not?" 

'  It  is  not !"  she  returned,  emphatically,  but 
with  bitter  coldness. 

He  started  back  from  her  amazed. 

"  Not  true !"  he  repeated,  with  an  astounded 
air. 

'  It  is  not  true,''  she  answered,  firmly. 

'You  confound  me,"  he  ejaculated,  with 
almost  breathless  wonder.  "  Why,  I  have  not 
only  received  this  tale  from  authority  which  I 
bave  a  right  to  consider  undoubted,  but  I 
have  eeen— Been— Constance,  with  my  owa 
eyes-"  j 

"  I  care  neither  for  your  authority,  what  you 
have  heard,  nor  what  you  have  seen,"  the  re- 
sponded, in  the  same  frigid  tone,  enforced  and 
sustained  with  a  singular  power.  "  My  author- 
ity, at  least,  ought  to  have  the  greatest  weight 
ith  you."  "Bat I  have  proofs."  he  urged.  | 

Her  lip  curled  with  iuS  wondrous  scornful 
expression. 

"Proofs?"  she  iterated.  "Where  are' 
they  ?"  j 

•'  The  girl  Shelley,  your  foster-sister,  wa^ 
with  you  at  the  time  of  your  confinement,"  he* 
rejoined.  "  She  afterward  had  the  child  in 
her  custody,  and — " 

The  Marchioness  waved  her  hand. 

"  If  you  are  bent  on  immediate  destruction, ' 
I  am  not !"  she  said,  sternly.     "  It  is  my  in- 
tention immediately  to  leave  you ;  and  while 
I  despise  your  threats,  I  will  dare  all  your  ef- 
forts to  stay  me — " 

"Conttance!  Constance!''  he  cried,  cfepre- 
catingly,  "  this  is  not  the  tone  ia  which  you 
should  speak  to  me — " 

"  Listen  to  me,"  she  said,  sternly  and  im-  i 
patently,  apparently  not  heeding  his  pleading 
tone.    "  Since  you  appear  so  deeply  interested 
in  this  story,  I  will  reveal  circumstances  to 
you,  and  to  you  only — to  you,  because  I  feel 
that  you  are  the  only  being  living  who  has  the 
shadow  of  a  claim  to  demand  of  me  the  sur- 
render of  what  I  have  hitherto  retained  as  a 
profound  secret,  locked  up  in  my  own  breast.  , 
I  was  ill  soon  after  we  were  married,  I  admit. 
Was  it  etrange?    I  was  a  young  girl,  ecarcely  i 
emancipated  from  school,  ihe  heroine  of  a  se-  ; 
cret  marriage,  bound  to  keep  that  secret  un- 
known to  every  one,  save  those  who  were  ac- 
tive parties  to  it.    It  was  natural  that  my  mind 
should    be    troubled    by    the    responsibility 
which  I  had  iacunrd,  and  that  the  harraeeiog 
anxiety,  increased  by  your  apathy  and  jour 
growing  indifference  to"  me—" 


132 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


"  No,  Constance,  not  indifference  1" 

"  What  matters  it,  if  it  assumed  that  senti- 
ment so  cloeely  in  appearance  that  it  was  not 
impossible  for  me  to  accept  it  for  anything 
else?  I  fell  into  a  nervo'is,  desponding  state, 
a  condition  of  depressive  debility,  which  soon 
became  perceptible  to  my  parents,  who  in- 
stantly sought  advice.  A  change  of  scene 
was  recommended.  I  selected  Beachborough 
Abbey,  and  I  gave  you  truthful  reasons  for 
that  choice,  although  now  you  spurn  them — " 

"  No— I  wish  only  to  know — " 

"  The  truth ;  you  shall  have  it,"  sharply 
responded  the  Marchioness.  "  I  went  to 
Beachborough  Abbey,  and  while  there  I  made 
the  unhappy  discovery  that  poor — poor  Fan- 
ny—poor—" 

The  Marchioness  covered  her  face  suddenly 
with  her  handkerchief,  and  sobbed  violently, 
pasrionately,  for  a  minute. 

At  that  moment,  she  remembered  with  an 
agony  so  intense,  BO  acute,  that  all  attempts 
to  describe  it  would  be  puerile,  that  Fanny 
Shelley  had  sacrificed  her  life  for  her,  and 
that  she  was  about  to  repay  that  devotion — 
how? 

The  Earl  gazed  upon  her  with  surprise 
and  distress;  He  did  not,  however,  attempt 
to  interfere  with  this  severe  ebullition  of  emo- 
tioft  ;  he  let  it  hold  its  sway  unchecked.  He 
knew  the  nature  of  Constance,  indeed,  too  well 
to  attempt  any  interference  with  her  while 
thus  moved ;  he,  therefore,  remained  motion- 
less and  silent. 

The  unexpected  burst  of  weeping  passed 
away  almout  abruptly  as  it  came.  She,  with 
an  angry,  impatient  hand,  removed  the  traces 
of  her  tears  from  her  eyelids,  and  turned  her 
white  face  to  him. 

"  You  will  pardon  my  weakness,"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  which  still  needed  firmness  of 
tone;  "Fanny  Shelley  was  my  foster-sister. 
She  was  humble  and  dependent,  but  fai — 
faithful  to — to — a  degree.  You,  Bertram, 
may  bear  testimony  to  that  virtue  which  she 
possessed." 

"I  do,  with  my  whole  heart!"  he  cried, 
warmly.  "  I  only  deeply  regret  her  death." 

The  Marchioness  abruptly  turned  her  back 
to  him. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  an  instant; 
then  Constance  moved  slowly  round,  and  laced 
him  again. 

"She  was  my  foster-sister,"  she  resumed, 
evidently  speaking  with  some  difficulty ; 
"  and  she  was  the  only  woman  I  ever 
1-Moved!" 

She  paused  again.  And  then,  as  if  by  a 
desperate  effort,  she  proceeded  with  more  firm- 
ness and  some  rapidity : 

"  She  loved  me  with  a  devotion  I  have  no 
words  to  describe,  and  she  was  so  attentive  to 
my  wishes,  BO  thoughtful  of  my  wauts,  BO 
ready  to  serve  me  in  any  way,  at  any  moment, 
that  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  help  being 
attached  to  her.  She  accompanied  me  to 
Beachborough  ;  I  saw  th&t  she,  too,  was  ill — 
very  ill — very  dejected — indeed,  very  unhap- 


py. I  questioned  her  closely,  and  at  last  eha 
confessed  to  me  that  she  had  been  pursued  by 
a  young  nobleman,  one  of  your  class,  Ber- 
tram ;  that,  after  having  for  some  lengthened 
period  withstood  his  importunities,  his  profes- 
sions of  love,  and  his  wildly-uttered  never-to- 
be-redeemed  promises — for  she  had  a  lover 
prepared  to  marry  her,  whenever  she  chose 
t»  ascent — she  in  some  unhappy  moment  fell, 
and  she  was  then  about — to  become— a  moth- 
er." 

She  paused,  and  breathed  deeply. 

Then  she  subjoined  rapidly  : 

"  What  more  would  you  have  mo  to  §a*y, 
Bertram  ?  A  child  was  born ;  I  assisted  her 
to  keep  this  secret,  this  terrible  misfortune. 
The  infant  was  conveyed  away  from  Beach- 
borough  without  discovery.  We  returned  to 
London.  I  found  you  more  careless,  more  in- 
different to  me  than  ever.  Nay,  it  is  useless 
to  interrupt  me.  I  know  what  I  saw  and  wliat 
I  felt.  I  need  not  refer  to  what  followed.  You 
know  why  I  parted  with  Fanny  Shelley.  I 
settled  an  income  on  her,  and  we  parted  for- 
ever. The  poor,  misguided,  foolish  girl,  after 
quitting  me,  returned  to  Beachborough  to  her 
parents,  and  took  her  child  with  her.  You 
appear  to  know  what  happened  subsequently. 
For  that  error,  and  for  all  other  unfortunate 
matters  connected  with  it,  I  am,  therefore,  in 
no  way  responsible.  I  have  finished.  You 
now  know  what  value  to  place  upon  the  story 
you  have  heard,  and  in  what  light  to  look  upoa 
your  informant." 

She  ceased,  and  looked  at  him  furtively,  but 
anxiously. 

He  returned  her  look  with  one  of  speechless 
wonder. 

He  had  not  previously  doubted  that  Hagar 
Lot,  whom,  however,  he  had  known  under  a 
very  different  name,  had  made  herself,  out  of  a 
desire  for  revenge,  mistress  of  all  the  facts ; 
and  he  would  have  declared  so,  but  he  could 
not  give  her  up  as  his  authority — bis  acquaint- 
ance with  her  would  not  bear  inquiring  into, 
certainly  by  Constance,  and,  therefore,  he  was 
unable  to  eay  to  her,  '•  Why,  your  own  instru- 
ment, used  for  the  disposal  of  the  child,  has 
revealed  all  to  me  ?  " 

There  was  something,  however,  so  very 
plausible,  so  very  feasible  in  the  statement  of 
the  Marchioness,  that  he  felt  strongly  inclined 
to  believe  it,  the  more  as  he  could  not  com- 
prehend her  motive  in  originally  concealing 
the  truth  from  him.  Still,  he  could  not  hide 
from  himself  that  the  young  lady  whom  he 
had  seen  at  hia  own  mansion  bore  a  most  re- 
markable reeemblance  to  Constance — a  resem- 
blance so  striking  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
account  for  it  in  any  other  way  than  by  a  tie 
of  affinity. 

"  I  confess,"  he  presently  said,  in  a  tono  of 
slight  hesitation,  "  that  your  explanation  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  perfectly  natural :  for  what 
motive,  had  it  pleased  Heaven  to  bless  us  with 
an  offspring,  could  you  have  had  in  conceal- 
ing the  fact?" 

"  What  motive,  indeed?"  she  obaerred  with- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


133 


out  an  effort  to  disguise  the  contemptuous 
earl  of  her  lip. 

"Because,"  he  continued,  thoughtfully, 
without  noticing  the  expression  of  scorn  upon 
her  features,  "  although  you  had  sound  rea- 
sons for  keeping  that  important  circumstance 
hidden  from  the  world,  you  had  no  reason 
whatever  to  disguise  it  from  me." 

"  None  whatever,"  she  exclaimed,  with  the 
same  disdainful  glance. 

"  Yet,"  he  added,  with  a  perplexed  look  at 
her,  "  1  have  already  had  an  interview  with  a 
young  person  who,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  ia 
the  child  of  whom  we  have  been  speaking." 

"The  child  of  Fanny  Shelley,"  responded 
the  Marchioness,  in  a  somewhat  fainter  tone. 

"  Ah— well — yes,  if  I  place  faith  in  your 
assertion,"  he  replied,  still  hesitating  ;  "  but 
she  bears  such  an  extraordinary  resemblance 
to  you." 

"  To  me  ?  " 

"To  you,  Constance — a  most  remarkable 
likeness,"  he  returned,  speaking  in  an  impress- 
ive manner. 

"Are  you  sure?"  ehe  exclaimed,  with  a 
curl  of  scorn  still  upon  her  lip. 

"How  could  I  be  mistaken?"  he  answered, 
elevating  his  eyebrows.  She  is  young,  tall, 
beautifully  formed,  and  with  a  most  graceful 
carriage — such,  indeed,  as  you  were  when  I 
first  met  with  and  was  entranced  by  you." 

"  Flattery  from  your  lips,  Lord  Brackleigh, 
is  embarrassing  tD  me,"  she'  observed,  with  a 
sneer  which  made  him  wince  ;  "  in  what  you 
may  further  have  to  communicate  to  me,  I 
besr  of  you  to  avoid  it." 

He  reddened  and  bowe*d. 

"  I  intended  to  say  that  ehe  is,  in  feature 
and  form,  the  counterpart  of  what  you  were 
when  we  first  met,"  he  subjoined.  4>  She  has 
the  same, shaped  features,  the  same  colored 
eyes  and  hair,  even  the  tone  of  her  voice  re- 
sembles yours  in  its  intonation." 

"A  coincidence,"  remarked  the  Marchioness, 
impatiently.  "  Fanny  Sbelley  was  passion- 
ately attached  to  me.  I  was,  I  may  almost 
say,  her  sole  thought ;  that  her  child  should 
be  like  me,  is  surely  not  so  astonishing !" 

"But  her  air,  her  mien,  her  carriage ?"  he 
arged. 

Her  father  was  a  nobleman,"  exclaimed  the 
Marchioness,  turning  away  from  him  with  a 
vexed  and  impatient  manner. 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  then  said, 
questioningly: 

"I  am  to  believe  you,  I  suppose,  Con- 
stance?" She  turned  abruptly  to  him. 

"  To  me,"  she  said,  "  that  is  a  matter  ot  in- 
difference now.  You  have  been  pleased  to 
affect  some  degree  of  ardent  attachment  for 
me  ;  yet  my  word,  in  a  matter  in  which  you 
admit  yourself  I  cannot  possibly  have  any  mo- 
tive for  concealment,  you  distrust.  I  there- 
fore know  not  what  value  to  set  upon  your 
protestations  of  unalteied  affection." 

"  Yo\i  have  decided  me,  Constance,"  he  ex- 
claimed with  a  sudden  emphasis.  "  I  must 
have  been  a  fool  to  doubt  you.  Nay,  if  I  had 


for  an  instance  reflected,  I,  who  know  your 
nature  so  well,  might  have  been  convinced 
that,  whatever  might  have  been  the  induce- 
ments, however  powerful  the  reasons  urging 
you,  you  would  never  have  been  guilty  of 
consigning  your  poor  little  innocent  babe  to 
the  mercy  of  strangers — to  a  life  of  vicissi- 
tude, penury,  perhaps  crime.  Such  barbarity 
would  have  been  absolutely  inhuman,  and 
therefore  it  is  not  possible  for  you  to  have 
been  its  mother — " 

"  I  am  faint  and  weak — this  conversation 
wearies  and  fatrgues  me  beyond  expression," 
she  interrupted,  with  blanched  cheeks  and 
lips ;  "  bring  yoiir  remarks  to  a  close,  I  en- 
treat you,  and  let  me  depart." 

"  I  will  not  much  longer  detain  you,"  he  re- 
plied. "  Let  me,  however,  assure  you,  that  I 
fully  believe  your  assertion,  and  that  I  have 
entire  faith  in  you  ;  and  now  let  me  close  this 
part  of  the  subject  of  our  conference,  by  ex- 
pressing my  delight  at  finding  the  information 
which  I  had  received  respecting  you  to  be 
false.  Other  communications,  intended  to 
have  placed  you  in  a  horrible  light,  in  my 
eyes,  are  unquestionably  false ;  but  as  I  can 
trace  a  motive  to  these  assertions  in  a  hatred 
of  you,  so  I  can  now,  with  satisfaction  to  My- 
self, despise  them."  v 

"Who  is  my  assailant?"  asked  the  Mar- 
chioness, eyeing  him  curiously. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  answered 
evasively. 

"One  unworthy  your  notice.  One  word 
more — where  do  you  imagine  that  I  met  thia 
child  of  Shelley's  ?" 

She  started,  and  darted  upon  him  in  an  eager 
look  of  inquiry. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  she  replied,  hastily. 
"Where?" 

He  smiled  strangely,  as  he  answered. 

"  In  my  own  house." 

She  recoiled  from  him  with  amazement. 

"Even  in  Brackleigh  Mansion,"  he  contin- 
ued. "  I  found  her  there  accidentally,  in  a 
room  adjoining  my  study.  She  was  attired  in 
a  costume  precisely  similar  to  that  worn  by 
you  when  you  sac  for  a  miniature  of  youraelf, 
painted  for  me,  and  which  I  still  have.  On 
entering  the  room,  ehe  looked  up  at  me.  I 
was  never  so  startled  in  my  life ;  for  an  in- 
stant I  was  carried  back  years,  and  I  even  be- 
lieved it  was  yourself  whom  I  was  address- 
ing." 

Her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  issued  from 
them.  M 

"  Yes,  Constance — would  you  suppose  it,  • 
this  child,  BO  remarkable  in  its  history,  is  now! 
a  protegee  of  Lady  Brackleigh?"  «| 

"Of  Lady  Brackleigh  1"  she  murmured,? 
faintly.  "  How-— how  could  she  possibly  have  ^ 
fallen  under  her  notice  ?"  she  gasped. 

"  Well,  in  truth,  I  cannot  answer  that  ques-  t 
tion,"  he  returned,  musingly.  "  There  has 
has  been  something  very  odd  in  Lady  Braek- 
leigh's  manner,  and  in  her  movements,  since 
we  first  met,  after  our  double  marriage,  at 
Maddressfield  Castle,  when,  oddly  enough,  we 


184 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


were  introduced  to  each  other.  She  has  from 
that  time  acted  independently  of  me,  and  in 
frequent  defiance  of  my  wish  ;  but,  as  I  never 
cared  a  straw  for  her,  I  never  perservered  in 
any  opposition  to  her  whims." 

"  Her  whims,"  repeated  Constance,  with  an 
increased  pulsation  of  the  heart,  "  what  form 
did  those  whiroa  take  ?" 

She  was  thinking  of  Floret's  presence  in 
Brackleigh  Mansion  when  she  put  that  ques- 
tion. 

"  A  desire  to  move  about  the  country,  in 
a«y  direction  she  thought  fit,  without  consult- 
ing me.  I  happened  to  decide  upon  going  to 
"Wiltshire  at  one  period— you  remember  when  ; 
upon  my  return,  I  found  that  she  had  been  to 
Wiltshire  too.  I  know  not  what  part,  but  there 
she  had  been,  although  she  said  that  she  had 
been  to  some  other  place.  I  met  her,  too, 
once  very  unexpectedly  at  Brighton-" 

"At  Brighton!"  ejaculated  the  Marchion- 
ess, abruptly. 

"Ah!"  rejoined  Bertram,  thoughtfully, 
"  that  reminds  me  of  the  singular  remarks 
she  made  to  me  when  she  entered  the  room, 
while  I  was  speaking  to  the  child  of — " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  interposed  the  Mar- 
chioness, impatiently. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "Iliad 
for  the  moment  forgotten  the  name  which  this 
peculiar  child  has  adopted.  What  do  you 
imagine  it  to  be  ?" 

"  I  cannoli  conceive !"  returned  Constance, 
hardly  able  to  force  out  the  words. 
,     "  Edith  Plantagenet !"  he  answered. 

She  looked  at  him  incredulously. 

"It  is  impossible.  You  have  been  imposed 
upon,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  without  knowing 
what  fell  from  her  lips. 

"  O,  but  1  had  it  from  her  own  lips,"  he  re- 
plied, quickly.  "  Of  course,  the  moment  I 
beheld  her  I  requested  her  to  give  me  her 
name.  I  was  greatly  excited  by  her  resem- 
blance to  you,  and  when  she  informed  me  that 
it  was  Edith  Plantagenet,  you  may  imagine 
what  my  emotions  were.  It  was  natural  that 
I  should  then  imagine  that  a  child  of  ruy  own 
stood  before  me,  of  whose  existence  I  had  pre- 
viously no  knowledge,  nor  even  any  concep- 
tion." 

I  "  She  has  no  right  to  bear  that  name.  She 
Khali  not.  I  will  tear  it  from  her  I"  exclaimed 
the  Marchioness,  quivering  and  trembling  with 
excessive  emotion. 

"Calm  yourself,  Constance,"  said  Ber- 
tram, assuming  a  soft  tenderness  of  tone  ;  "  it 
shall  be  my  task  to  prevent  her  troubling  you 
any  more." 

"  If  you  do  this,  you  will  have  a  claim  to 
my  everlasting  gratitude,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
an  eager  fervor  which  had  an  instant  influence 
over  him. 

t  "You  have  said  sufficient,  Constance,  to 
compel  me  to  win  that  gratitude,"  he  replied, 
with  enthusiatm.  "  I  will,  on  my  return  home, 
atrip  the  jay  of  her  feathers,  and  order  her  to 
be  removed  from  my  mansion.  I  am  at  least 
master  there." 


"  Does  your— does  Lad  7  Brackleigh  know 
aught  of  our  early  connection,  Btrtram?" 
she  aoked,  abruptly,  but  in  an  earnest  tone. 

"  Nothing  certain,  I  believe,"  he  said,  in 
reply  ;  "  but  she  suspects,  that's  clear." 

"The  truth?"  inquired  the  Marchion- 
ess. 

"Judge!"  he  returned.  "When  she  joined 
me  while  conversing  with  Edith,  Shelley's — " 

"Name  Her  not,  but  proceed.  I  know'whom 
you  mean,"  exclaimed  the  Marchioness,  pas- 
sionately. 

44  Even  so,"  he  rejoined.  •'  Well,  Constance, 
while  I  was  speaking  with  her,  Lady  Brack- 
leigh joined  us.  She,  with  coneiderable  ex- 
citement, bade  me  look  on  the  girl's  face,  and 
as  she  did  so  she  informed  me  that  she  was 
born  at  Beachborough  in  thirty-three,  and  she 
requested  me  to  remember  how  I  passed  the 
fifth  of  December,  eighteen  hundred  and  thir- 
ty-two, at  Brighton." 

"It  is  the  very  day!"  ejaculated  the  Mar- 
chioness. "  She  must  know  all!" 

"  I  believe  she  does,"  rejoined  the  Earl. 
"The  time  for  action,  therefore,  has  come. 
Will  you  wait  quietly  here  while  the  net  is 
drawn  tightly  over,  BO  that  escape  will  be  im- 
possible ?  or,  Constance,  will  you  dare  the 
world's  criticism,  and,  relying  upon  my  undy- 
ing love — " 

A  shadow  fell  across  them  as  he  uttered 
those  words,  and  a  rapid  footstep  approach- 
ing compelled  him  to  suspend  his  speech. 

Another  moment  Fane  stood  before  them. 

"  May  it  please  your  ladyship,"  she  said,  in 
swift  tones,  and  evidently  greatly  flurried, 
"the  Marquis  seems  in  great  uneasiness  ©f 
mind  abouc  your  ladyship.  My  Lord  wishes 
to  see  your  ladyship,  and  he  has  been  search- 
ing in  every  direction  for  you.  I  have  con- 
ducted him  to  every  place  I  could  think  of, 
but  he  is  not  satisfied  ;  he  will  search  the  gar- 
den again.  I  said  I  thought  your  ladyship 
might  be  in  the  summer-house ;  there  is  the 
key  of  it,  your  ladyship.  The  Marquis  is 
coming  this  way  now,  Sir.  Behind  this  tree 
there  is  a  long  strip  of  grass  ;  there  is  a  door 
in  the  wall  a  little  way  down  ;  it  ?eads  into  an- 
other garden.  Your  servant  is  there  waiting 
to  show  you  a  way  out  where  nobody  will  no- 
tice you.  O  uay  Lady,  the  Marquis  isn't 
twenty  yards  from  this  part !" 

The  Marchioness  moved  hastily  away. 

"I  shall  know  how  to  communicate  with 
you,"  whispered  the  Earl,  as  he  pressed  her 
hand,  and  darted  behind  the  tree,  taking  the 
direction  which  Fane  had  given. 

Fane  returned  to  meet  the  Marquis  and  ac- 
company him  to  the  summer-house.  Her  pre- 
tence for  leaving  him  was  that  sh*»  had  to  find 
the  key  of  the  summer-house.  She  intended 
to  inform  him,  on  reaching  him,  that  ic  was 
not  to  be  found. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOft 


135 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  Pk  ad  Tith  the  swift  frost 
That  should  spare  the  eldest  flower  of  spring  ; 
Plead  with  a  wakening  earthquake,  o'er  whose  couch 
ETCH  now  a  city  stands,  fair,  joung,  and  free; 
New  stench  and  blackness  ;a*n,  like  deatk.    0  plead 
With  famine,  or  wind-walking  pestilence, 
Blind  lightning,  or  the  deaf  tea.— not  with  man  ! 
Cruel,  cold,  foi  mal  man !  righteous  in  words, 
In  deeds  a  Cain."  — SHKLLIT. 

When  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  had  discov- 
ered the  door  described  to  him  by  Fane,  the 
attendant  of  the  Marchioness,  he  found  it 
ajar.  He  pushed  it  gently  open,  and  passing 
through  the  doorway,  he  saw  Nat  standing  in 
an  expectant  attitude,  awaiting  his  coming. 

"The  way  out  Quick!"  exclaimed  the 
Ear],  in  rapid,  but  low  accents. 

Nat  touched  his  hat,  and  with  light  but 
nknble  steps  struck  down  a  narrow  path  along 
a  kitchen- garden,  and  thence,  through  a 
second  door,  into  a  stable-yard  of  somewhat 
considerable  dimensions. 

He  glanced  hastily  round  him,  but  there 
appeared  to  be  nobody  about,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded on  cautiously,  but  hastily,  until  he 
conducted  the  Earl  abruptly  into  a  busy 
thoroughfare. 

The  Earl  instantly  engaged  a  street- cab, 
and  returned  to  Brackleigh  Mansion.  On 
reaching  it,  he  proceeded  direct  to  his  study, 
and,  throwing  himeelf  on  a  couch,  he  proceed- 
ed to  collect  his  thoughts. 

He  felt  greatly  elated  at  having  seen  the 
Marchioness.  He  had  not  been  startled,  as  he 
Eomewhat  anticipated,  by  the  inroads  which 
time  had  made  upon  her  appearance.  She 
was  still  fair  and  beautiful,  with  a  complexion 
that  eeemed  quite  transparent,  and  a  mien 
that  an  empress  might  have  envisd. 

The  charms  with  which  a  heated  imagina- 
tion had  invested  her  did  not  disappear, 
when  he  turned  his  eager  eyes  upon  her  face 
and  form.  He  saw  that  she  was  changed,  in- 
deed, from  the  young,  slight,  proud,  almost 
child-like  girl,  whose  step  had  the  gra«e,  the 
lightness,  and  the  elasticity  of  that  of  a  favn ; 
but  the  features  which  he  had  recognized  and 
admired  in  her  girlhood  seemed  only  now  to 
have  become  matured.  Care,  it  is  true,  was 
imprinted  on  her  face  ;  but  that  served,  in  his 
eyes,  to  endow  her  with  a  spiritual  look, 
which  increased  rather  than  detracted  from 
her  loveliness. 

In  truth,  the  interview  had  not  had  the  ef- 
fect of  weakening  the  passion  which,  of  late 
years,  had  been  fostered  by  memory  and  imag- 
ination only ;  on  the  contrary,  it  had  con- 
firmed &11  his  speculations,  and  rendered  his 
desire  to  be  reunited  to  ker  fiercer  than  ever. 

Ha  went  carefully,  thoughttully,  and  as 
calmly  as  he  could,  over  all  the  topics  which 
had  been  diecuesed  at  their  recent  interview, 
and  he  btlitved  that  their  consideration  con- 
ducted him  to  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
position  in  which  he  was  placed,  and  the 
hazards  which  beset  and  surrounded  the  path 
lie  was  bent  upon  taking. 

The  result  of  his  reflections  was  a  determi- 
nation to  realize  as  much  money  as  he  could 


from  his  personal  property,  place  his  affairs 
and  estates  in  the  hands  of  a  shrewd,  firm, 
legal  man  of  business,  and  when  that  was  done, 
to  apprise  the  Marchioness  of  his  arrange- 
ments, and  elope  with  her  to  Norway ;  or 
some  place  which  had  not  completed  with 
England  an  extradition  treaty. 

He  decided,  upon  reflection,  not  to  commu- 
nicate with  Constance  until  he  had  matured 
his  plans,  and  they  were  «n  the  eve  of  accom. 
plishment.  He  had  the  sharpness  to  compre- 
hend that  it  would  be  his  moat  prurient  step 
to  make  a  confidant  of  no  person,  and  he  de- 
signed to  hint,  rather  than  to  say  openly  to 
the  solicitor  whom  he  intended  to  employ, 
that  he  desired  the  affairs  intrusted  to  him 
should  be  carried  out  swiftly  and  secretly. 

The  Marchioness  had  successfully  con- 
vinced him  that  Floret  was  not  bis  child,  and 
he  determined  to  contrive  an  interview  with 
the  latter  on  the  following  morning,  to  disa- 
buse her  mind  of  any  impression  to  that  effect, 
if  she  entertained  it.  He  had  no  doubt  that, 
by  some  casual,  but  yet  extraordinary  acci- 
dent, the  Countess  had  discovered  her,  and, 
struck  by  her  resemblance  to  Constance,  had, 
like  her  sex,  immediately  leaped  to  a  conclu- 
sion that  she  was  her  child — and  his.  Im- 
pressed by  this  conceit,  he  thought  it  not  un- 
natural that  she  should  secure  possession  of 
Floret  until  she  could  place  hereelf  in  a  posi- 
tion to  prove  that  her  suspicions  were  cor- 
rect, and  he  resolved,  by  an  appeal  to  the 
girl's  common  sense,  as  he  expressed  himeelf 
mentally,  to  convince  her  of  the  wildnesa  of 
the  Countess's  conjecture,  and  to  point  out  to 
her  the  impropriety  of  remaining  a  moment 
longer  beneath  his  roof,  as  she  had  heard 
from  his  Hpa  a  positive  denial  of  paternity, 
either  in  the  case  of  the  Marchioness  or  of  him- 
self. 

He  summoned  Nat,  and  bade  him  ascer- 
tain whether  a  young  lady  who  had  been 
staying  with  the  Marchioness  on  a  visit  was 
jet  with  her. 

Nat,  who  bad  an  eye  to  business,  and  that 
"  stunning  public",  had  already  assured  him- 
self of  that  fact,  and  was  employing  every 
stratagem  he  could  devise  to  obtain  a  few 
minutes'  conversation  'with  her  alone.  The 
Countees  had,  as  yet,  been  too  sharp  for  Mm ; 
that  is  to  say,  her  maid,  who  bad,  from  Nat's 
first  arrival  at  Brackleigh.  Maneion,  enter- 
tained the  strongest  suspicion  of  his  integrity, 
and  had  nourished  an  instinctive  aversion  to 
him,  was,  in  the  interests  of  her  mistress,  too 
sharp  for  him. 

She  had  detected  him  prowling  about  the 
Countess's  suite  of  apartments,  and  she  kept 
her  eye  constantly  upon  him,  so  that  he 
could  not  make  his  appearance  in  any  epot 
where  he  thought  it  likely  Florot,  might  ap- 
pear unaccompanied  by  any  one,  but  he  found 
her  at  his  elbow. 

He  was,  therefore,  in  a  position  to  imme- 
^iuuily  give  to  the  Earl  the  information  for 
<»hich  he  had  asked.  On  receiving  it,  the 
Bad  immediately  rejoined : 


136 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


"  Ascertain  to-morrow  morning  whether  the 
young  lady  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking 
enters  the  sitting -room  which  adjoins  the  li- 
brary ;  the  moment  ahe  does  BO,  acquaint  me 
with  it." 

Nat  was  delighted  with  these  instructions, 
because  he  thought  it  would  give  him  a 
right  to  be  moving  about  in  that  part  of  the 
mansion  where  Subtle  was  perpetually  cross- 
ing him  and  snubbing  him  for  being  there. 
"With  a  very  decided  intention  of  keeping  his 
promise,  he  assured  the  Earl  that  the  yourg 
lady  should  not  enter  "  that  'ere''  room  with- 
out his  being  promptly  informed  of  the  fact. 

In  the  morning  he  was  early  astir  ;  so  was 
Subtle,  and  she  wanted  to  know  why  he  kept 
on  "  poking  his  nose  where  he  hadn't  ought 
to"  at  that  early  hour  of  the  day. 

Chawing  a  email  piece  cf  straw,  he  answer- 
ed, with  an  air  of  the  coolest  confidence  : 

"  Ax  the  hurl." 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly  and  penetrat- 
ingly, but  bis  was  not  a  countenance  quite  so 
guileless  that  any  one  could  read  upon  his 
cheek  what  was  passing  in  his  brain.  She, 
therefore,  retired,  and  informed  the  Countess 
of  what  had  transpired,  with  her  own  opinions 
thereon. 

The  Countess  reflected  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  determined  to  see  Nat  herself,  and 
put  him  through  a  course  of  examination.  She 
made  no  reply  to  Subtle,  but  abruptly  quitted 
the  room,  and  pounced  suddenly  upon  him  be- 
fore he  coulo.  avoid  her,  which  he  certainly 
would  have  done  if  the  slightest  chance  had 
presented  itself. 

A  few  brief,  rapid  questions,  sternly  put, 
compelled  Nat  to  confess  that  the  Earl  had 
ordered  him  to  watch  the  appearance  of  Flo- 
ret in  the  sitting-room  which  adjoined  the 
library.  The  Countess,  on  hearing  this, 
mused  for  a  minute  or  BO,  and  then  said  to 
him  : 

u  When  the  clock  strikes  eleven,  proceed  to 
his  lordship  and  inform  him  the  young  lady 
with  whom  he  desires  to  have  some  conversa- 
tion is  in  the  room  in  which  he  previously 
met  her.  Beware  how  you  inform  him  that 
you  obtained  this  information  through  me." 

As  she  concluded,  she  retired  as  hastily  as 
she  had  appeared. 

Nat  felt  certain  disagreeable  misgivings 
steal  into  his  mind,  although  he  could  noi 
quite  see  what  he  had  to  apprehend ;  he,  how- 
ever, solaced  himself  -with  a  belief  that  there 
would  be  a  good  opening  for  him  to  say  a  few 
words  to  Floret  alone,  before  he  communicat 
crt  to  the  Earl  the  intelligence  that  she  was 
in  the  sitting-room  in  which  he  expected  to  see 
h«r. 

He  had  no  doubt  that  Floret  was  the  child 
of  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  and  the  Marchioness 
of  Westchester ;  and  now  that  she  was  actual- 
ly beneath  the  roof  of  her  father,  he  resolved 
to  disclose  to  her  the  secret  of  her  birth,  as- 
sure her  that  he  was  the  only  person  living 
who  could  prove  it,  and  that;  at  ihe  proper  mo- 
ment he  would  come  forward  and  do  BO,  if  she  I 


1 


would  bind  herself  down  to  pay  him,  as  soon 
ae  she  bad  obtained  through  bis  instrumental- 
ity her  rights,  the  farcy  sum  of  ten  thousand 
pounds,  that  being  the  purchase  of  the  said 
"  public"  which  was  ever  running  uppermost 
in  his  brain — a  sum  which  he  was  satisfied 
would  be  a  mere  "  milk-score"  to  her  when  she 
had  got  her  own. 

A  few  minutes  before  eleven  he  glided  with 
stealthy  step  along  the  corridor  to  the  door  of 
the  room  in  which  he  believed  Floret  to  be 
now  sitting,  and  he  cautiously  turned  the  han- 
dle of  the  lock,  that  he  might  enter  tbe  apart- 
ment noiselessly,  but  though  the  handle  turned 
readily  enough,  the  door  would  not  open. 
After  three  or  four  attempts,  made  with  the 
application  of  as  much  strength  as  he  dared 
use,  he  came  to  the  mortifying  conclusion, 
that  the  door  was  locked  upon  the  inside. 

While  reflectirg  upon  what  was  to  be  done 
now,  whether  it  would  be  advisable  to  tap 
gently  at  the  door  or  not,  he  heard  the 
rapid  step  and  the  rustle  of  the  dress  of 
a  female  approaching  him.  He  took  five 
or  six  enormously  long  strides  from  the  door, 
and  turning  round  with  hie  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, he  assumed  a  sauntering  gait,  and  moved 
slowly  back  in  the  direction  he  had  just  quit- 
ted. 

The  female  overtook  and  passed  him ;  it 
was  Subtle.  She  turned  her  head  round  and 
grinned  in  his  face,  and  went  on,  singing,  loudl 
enough  for  him  to  hear : 

"  A  watcbit*n  I  am,  and  I  know  all  the  round 
The  housekeepers,  the  strays,  and  the  lodgers." 

Nat  could  not  find  a  satisfactory  response  to 
this  unpleasant  allusion,  and  he,  therefore,  let 
her  depart  without  an  observation,  which,  at 
another  time,  would  indubitably  have  followed 
her.  He  saw  that  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
carry  out  his  intention  at  present ;  he  there- 
fore decided  to  defer  it  to  a  more  favorable 
opportunity,  and  he  believed,  with  his  vigi- 
lance, that  it  would  soon  offer  itself. 

The  clock  struck  eleven,  and  he  went  direct 
to  the  Earl,  whom  he  found  awaiting  him  im- 
patiently in  his  library.  He  roee  from  his  seat 
as  Nat  entered,  and  looked  at  him  angrily.  He 
was  about  to  address  him  in  a  sharp,  reproving 
tone,  when  Nat  jerked  with  his  thumb,  and 
gave  a  side  nod  with  Ms  head  toward  the  door 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment. 

"Is  she  there?"  inquired  the  Earl,  in  a 
whisper. 

Nat  nodded,  but  remained  mute. 

"  Be  within  call  when  I  ring  for  you,"  added 
the  Earl ;  and  turning  awty,  strode  down  the 
library. 

"  I  ought  to  ha'  performed  on  that  ere  door, 
I  ought,"  thought,  Nat,  as  he  watched  the 
Earl  move  toward  it.  fc  An'  that's  jes'  what 
I  will  do  when  the  Hurl's  a-thinkin'  what 
sort  of  a  mornin'  it  is  to-morrer  about  thig 
time." 

The  Earl  looked  back,  and  Nat  disappeared 
from  tLe  library  instanter. 

On  r caching  eie  door  •which  le^  into  the 


Oii.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOK  GIEL. 


137 


sitting-room,  the  Earl  turned  the  handle  with 
a  gentle  touch,  and  opened  it  eoftly ;  he  gazed 
within,  and  beheld  Floret  standing  near  to  a 
•window,  with  her  face  turned  toward  him,  for 
she  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  the  opening 
door. 

As  before  when  he  saw  her,  the  light  fell 
upon  her  face  and  the  upper  part  of  her  form. 
He  started,  and  his  blood  seemed  to  run  back 
to  his  heart. 

A  strange  famtness  seized  him,  for  the  re- 
semblance of  Floret  to  Constance  was  so  sur- 
prisingly great  that  nothing  whatever  appeared 
to  be  left  to  the  imagination  to  supply. 

fle  had  seen  the  latter  so  recently,  had 
gazed  so  earnestly  and  so  searchingly  at  every 
feature,  that  they  were  stamped  with  the  great- 
est fidelity  upon  his  memory  ;  and  as  he  looked 
upon  Floret's  face,  he  saw  their  counterpart  in 
every  particular. 

Tne  likeness,  indeed,  was  so  great  that,  as  a 
coincidence,  it  was  little  short  of  a  miracle. 
He  had  never  examined  any  theory  which 
obtained  the  power  of  mind  over  matter  ;  but 
he  thought  that  the  affection  of  Fanny  Shel- 
ley for  Constance  must  have  been  very  intense, 
and  her  devotion  to  her  of  the  most  absorbing 
character,  to  have  produced  such  a  remarkable 
result. 

But  Constance  had  positively  affirmed  to 
him  that  this  girl  was  not  her  child,  and  he 
felt  bound  to  believe  her,  although  his  common 
sense  strongly  urged  him  to  doubt  whether 
such  a  resemblance  as  he  saw  before  him 
could  have  been  produced  by  a  simple  though 
continuous  action  of  the  mind.  Still,  he  decid- 
ed that  it  would  be  the  safer  and  the  wiser 
plan  for  him  to  place  faith  in  her  word.  Un- 
der existing  circumstances,  it  would  certainly 
not  be  politic  for  him  to  act  as  if  he  haa  not 
the  most  implicit  confidence  in  her ;  and  al- 
though he  was  absolutely  staggered  by  the 
appearance  of  Floret,  he,  in  defiance  of  an  in- 
stinctive impression  to  the  contrary,  resolved 
to  regard  her  as  the  offspring  of  Fanny  Shel- 
ley, and  to  treat  her  accordingly. 

So,  by  an  effort,  recovering  herself,  he  put 
on  a  demeanor  of  cold  composure,  he  advanced 
toward  her,  and  bowed  stiffly. 

He  commenced  with  an  icy— 

"  Good  morning,  Madam  1" 

She  felt  his  accents  fall  cold  upon  her  heart. 

She  had  the  day  before  been  inspired  in  his 
favor;  his  handsome  features  and  form,  his 
elegance  of  manner,  impressed  her  agreeably, 
and  she  was  moved  by  the  emotion  he  display- 
ed. Perhaps  there  was  some  secret  influence 
at  work  which  she  did  not  take  into  account. 

The  Countess  had  prepared  her  for  an  in- 
terview with  him  half  an  hour  previously,  and 
she  certainly  made  arrangements  to  keep  ic 
with  no  disinclination. 

She  permitted  the  Marchioness'  maid,  Sub- 
tle, to  dress  her  as  she  pleased,  she  only  took 
some  care  that  her  hair  and  her  dress  were 
arranged  with  exquisite  nicety,  and  according 
to  her  own  taste. 

She  had  anticipated,  etc  did  not  know  way, 


that  this  morning's  interview  would,  in  its  con- 
duct and  in  its  result,  be  more  pleasing  and 
satisfactory  to  her  than  the  first.  But  she  wss 
wofully  chilled  by  the  manner  and  the  tone 
of  the  Earl  when  he  first  addressed  her. 

She  bowed  only  in  reply  ;  but  she  looked 
somewhat  eagerly  and  questioningly  at  him. 

He  could  not  fail  to  see  that  his  cold  re- 
serve had  had  a  discouraging  effect  upon  her, 
and  he,  therefore,  averted  his  eyeg  from  her 
face,  for  he  felt  that  he  could  not  trust  himself 
to  look  upon  her  and  preserve  a  frigid  bearing 
toward  her. 

"  I  have  sought  you  this  mornirg,"  he  went 
on  to  say,  "  to  have  a  little  conversation  with 
you,  that  I  may  set  you  right  upon  a  few 
things  in  which  you  have  been"  deceived. 
Upon  one  matter,  at  least,  in  which  you  have 
been  grossly  misled." 

She  slightly  inclined  her  head  as  she  paus- 
ed ;  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  I  allude  to  your  name,"  he  subjoined. 

She  started,  and  gazed  upon  him  with  sur- 
prise and  some  little  dismay. 

"You  told  me,"  he  continued,  "if  ny 
memory  is  not  treacherous,  that  your  Chris- 
tian name  was  Edith  " 

A  flash  of  crimson  flew  over  htr  cheeks,  she 
bowed  her  heaci — drooped  it  rather — assent- 
ingly. 

"  And  your  surname  Plantsgenet" 

She  did  not  reply. 

He  glanced  at  her ;  her  face  had  become  aa 
white  aa  death. 

She  looked  exactly  as  he  had  seen  the  Mar- 
chioness look  the  night  before. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  "What  if  the  Marchioness  has  deceived  me  !" 
he  thought,  and  then  he  impatiently  dismiss- 
ed the  idea.  "  It  is  impossible,"  he  murmured. 
"  She  could  have  no  motive  whatever,  when 
that  birth  took  place,  to  keep  the  secret  from 
me." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  he  continued,  address- 
ing Floret,  after  a  short  silence,  f  that  you 
hi.ve  had  nothing  to  do  with-  the  assumption  of 
that  name — for  it  is  an  assumption,  let  me 
assure  you  of  that ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  in 
the  world  that  the  name  you  bear  was  given  to 
you  with  a  dishonest  motive — a  motive  which 
had  for  its  intention  the  injury  of  a  high-born 
lady,  without  providing  any  benefit  or  advan- 
tage to  you.  Nay,  its  exposure  would  have 
been  calculated  to  very  seriously  damage 
you." 

He  saw  that  her  fase  was  still  overspread 
with  a  ghastly  paleness,  and  he  could  not  keep 
down  an  emotion  of  pity  for  her  situation  ;  be 
therefore  somewhat  changed  the  tone  of  his 
voice,  though  he  still  retained  a  distant  man- 
ner. * 

"  The  name  of  Edith  Plantagenet  belonged 
to  a  lady  to  whom  you  are  in  no  degree  relat- 
ed," he  eaid  ;  "  but'l  think  I  can  explain  how 
it  was  bestowed  upon  you,  and  for  what  rea- 
son. Remember,  there  i*  no  person  living 
who  can  furnish  you  with  the  facts  connected 
with  your  origin  eo  faithfully  or  so  truthfully 


138 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


as  myeelf.  The  source  from  whence  I  obtain- 
ed my  information  is  beyond  question,  and, 
indeed,  eorne  of  the  circumstances  I  myself 
remember  distinctly." 

He  paused  for  a  minute,  aa  if  to  watch  what 
effect  liia  observations  were  having  upon  her, 
and  he  perceived  that  she  was  listening  to  him, 
as  one  who  had  been  full  of  hope  of  escape 
from  a  hateful  bondage  listens  to  a  judge  paes- 
Lag  eentence  of  death. 

Again  a  strange  thrill  of  compassion  ran 
through  his  frame,  and  he  modulated  his  voice 
into  a  still  kinder  tone  than  before. 

"  I  am  aware,"  he  resumed,  "  that  my  com- 
munication cannot  be  otherwise  than  painful 
to  a  susceptible  mind ;  still  it  would,  I  am 
flure,  be  the  most  mistaken  tenderness  for 
your  feelings  were  I  to  suffer  you  to  continue 
to  cherish  a  delusion  which  sooner  or  later 
must  bring  upon  you  grief  and  humiliation. 
If,  therefore,  I  speak  plainly,  do  not  under- 
stand me  to  speak  harshly,  or  suppose  me  to 
be  animated  by  any  unmanly  desire  to  pain  or 
•wound  you  unnecessarily.  Havicg  thus  pre- 
faced my  intended  statement,  let  me  revert  to 
what  was  said  in  my  hearing  to  you  by  the 
Countess  of  Brackltigh,  who  has  taken  upon 
herself,  very  improperly,  very  wrongly,  very 
cruelly,  I  will  say,  to  be  your  patroness.  She 
referred  to  your  resemblance  to  the  Mar- 
chioness of  "VVestchester,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Plantagenet.  "Well,  I  confess  that  you  do 
resemble  that  lady,  and  in  a  very  striking  de- 
gree ;  and  here  I  may  suggest  that  your  his- 
tory and  your  extraordinary  resemblance  to  a 
lady  of  ?-.igh  rank  and  birth  lies  in  a  nutshell. 
Lady  Westehester  had  a  foster-sister,  byname 
Shelley." 

Floret,  with  faint  eyes,  glanced  around  her. 

0  for  some  mode  of  escape  from  her  terrible 
position,  for  the  very  name  of  Shelley  made 
her  anticipate  some  disclosure    that   would 
crush  her.    But  every  outlet  was  secured,  and 
there  was  no  help  for  her  but  to  listen. 

She  drooped  her  eyelids  over  her  eyes,  so 
that  their  long,  fair,  eilken  lashes  rested  upon 
her  cheek ;  she  clasped  her  hands  tightly,  and 
stood  erect — to  the  Earl  it  seemed  haughtily 
and  defiantly. 

Ah,  if  he  could  have  only  read  what  was 
passing  in  her  mine!,  and  how  every  word  he 
was  uttering  served  as  a  weapon  to  break  her 
heart,  he  would  have  ceased  speaking  on  the 
mention  of  the  name  of  Shelley,  and  lefc  un- 
said that  which,  while  it  was  unqualifiedly 
falee,  brought  back  again  to  her  her  old  hope- 
lees  despair. 

But  he  saw  nothing  but  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  own  designs ;  and  though  he  knew 
that  he  was  ic  flic  ting  grievous  pain,  he  had  no 
notion  of  permitting  her  to  remain  in  doubt 
upon  a  point  of  which  attleast  he  compre- 
hended the  importance. 

"I  remember  Shelley  well," he  continued  ; 
"she  was  a  very  pretty,  quiet,  unassuming 
girl,  bom  of  humble  parents  ;  but  she  was,  as 

1  have  eaid,  the  foster-sister  of  Lady  West- 
cheater  }  rnd  as  her  laoyship  in  childhood 


had  taken  a  violent  fondness  for  her,  she  was 
brought  up  with  her.  Lady  Westchester  was 
very  kind  to  her,  exceedingly  kind ;  indeed,  I 
believe,  she  quire  loved  her — a — with  a — such 
love  as  can  exist  between  a  superior  and  a  de- 
pendent. In  consequence,  as  may  be  imag- 
;ned,  Shelley  worshiped  her.  Well,  to  make 
a  long  and  painful  story  short,  some  individu- 
al in  a  similar  position  to  my  own — a,  man  of 
birth,  I  believe — saw  Shelley,  was  struck  by 
her  pretty  face,  courted  her,  betrayed  her, 
there  is  no  doubt  about  that.  Lady  West- 
Chester,  while  at  Beachborough,  suffering  un- 
der indisposition,  discovered  her  secret  and 
preserved  it  for  her.  A  child  was  born  whose 
features  marvelously  resembled  those  of  the 
then  Miss  Plantagenet.  This  physiological 
fact  may  be  accounted  for  as  a  piece  of  mind- 
worship  by  the  maid  of  the  xrditrees.  The 
child — a — the— a — to  be  brief,  you  were  that 
child  ;  your  name,  therefore,  is  not  only  not 
Edith  Plantagenet,  but  is  not,  and  cannot  be 
any  other  than  Shelley.'-' 

The  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  who  et  the  moment 
was  speaking  with  some  little  embarrassment, 
owing  to  the  delicacy  of  the  communication 
he  considered  himself  compelled  to  make,  had 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  superb  diamond  ring  of 
great  value,  was  startled  by  a  heavy  fall. 

The  sound  was  followed  by  a  slight  shriek 
from  a  further  corner  of  the  room. 

He  looked  up.  Upon  the  floor,  senseless, 
lay  Floret.  Advancing  from  the  shadow  of  an 
Indian  screen,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  the 
apartment,  he  saw  the  Countess  of  Braekieigh, 
flying  to  her  aid. 

She  knelt  down  and  raised  the  poor  brok- 
en-hearted girl  from  the  floor,  and  supported 
her  upon  her  knee.  She  turned  her  iace  up 
to  the  Earl: 

"Your  coarse  brutality,  your  atrccicis, 
wicked  falsehoods  have  slain  her,"  she  cried, 
with  deep  and  angry  emotion. 

*'  Madam !"  he  ejaculated,  sternly. 

"  Leave  the  room,"  she  cried,  vehemently. 
"  Leave  it,  unless  you  wish  your  servants  to 
witness  a  ecene  such  as  they  will  never  forget, 
and  you  may  repent  as  lorg  as  you  breathe!" 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  replied,  in  an  offended 
tone. 

"  It  would  be  no  wonder  if  I  were,"  she  re- 
plied, scarcely  alle  to  articulate  from  excess- 
ive excitement.  "I  am,  howtTer,  sane 
enough  to  counteract  your  infernal  machina- 
tions, and  I  will.  You  may  plot  as  you  will, 
but  my  counterplot  shall  destroy  your 
Schemes,  and  you,  too !" 

"  Lady  Brackleigh,"  he  cried,  fiercely,  "you 
presume  upon  your  position." 

*'  And  upon  my  right,  if  I  presume  at  all," 
she  answered,  in  an  excited  but  determined 
tone.  *'  Quit  the  room,  I  command  you,  or  I 
ill  summon  the  servants,  and  repeat  to  them 
what  I  now  say  to  you.  I  will  expose  your 
deliberate  and  iniquitous  faleehoods  to  this 
pocr,  ill-used  girl— your  child— O  inhuman 
wretch— whom  you  b&ve  thus  savagely  de- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOP,  GIKL. 


139 


«eived,  ay,  and  traduced,  for  she  is  as  legiti- 
mately born  as  your  own  mother." 

"  Lady  Brackleigh,"  cried  He,  passionately 

"  It  is  not  my  name,  and  you  know  it,"  she 
retorted,  wildly  ;  "  ay,  and  you  mil  have  to 
answer  for  that,  as  well  as  for  your  treatment 
of  this  poor,  innocent  creature.  You  lied  to 
me,  as  treacherously  and  as  foully  as  you 
have  juet  done  to  her,  and  you  shall  not — you 
cannot  escape  retribution." 

"  I  will  not  submit  to  these  vulgar  out- 
rages," he  exclaimed,  biting  his  lips  to  sup- 
press the  impulses  of  the  violent  rage  which 
was  almost  convulsing  him.  "  You  shall  hear 
from  ree.  I  will  not  remain  beneath  the  same 
roof  with  you." 

He  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  ehe 
said  to  him,  in  slow,  emphatic  tone ; 

"  Quit  this  houae — or,  quitting  it,  leave  Lon- 
don if  you  dare.  If  you  but  attempt  it,  you 
will  be  arrested." 

"  Arrested !"  he  repeated.  "  Who  will  dare 
to  take  such  a  step  ?" 

"A  police-officer,"  she  cried,  vehemently, 
"  upon  a  charge  of  bigamy,  which  I  will  sup- 
port with  proofs  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  my 
Lord  Marquis  of  Westchester  shall  have  the 
opportunity  of  prosecuting  a  similar  charge, 
unless  he  be  too  greatly  attached  to  the 
wanton  chains  which  have  BO  long  and  BO  in- 
famously held  him  in  bondage.  Now,  go  ;  do 
as  you  please,  but  be  prepared  for  the  conse- 
quences." 

As  she  concluded,  she  made  a  desperate 
effort,  and  rose  up  with  the  etill  senseless  form 
of  Floret  in  her  arms,  and  seizing  a  handbell, 
rung  it  with  the  greatest  violence. 

Startled  by  this  movement,  and  positive 
that  it  would  bring  into  the  room  several  serv- 
ants, whose  surprised  and  questioning  looks  he 
had  no  inclination  to  face,  Jbe  retreated  hastily 
to  his  library,  and  thence  to  his  study,  there 
to  reflect  upon  the  new  phase  affairs  had 
taken,  and  what  would  be  his  next  best  step, 

In  the  meantime,  Subtle  had  promptly  an- 
swered the  summons  of  Lady  Brackleigh,  and 
she  quickly  assisted  to  bear  poor  Floret 
into  the  private  chamber  of  the  Countess, 
,  where  they  laid  her  motionless  form  upon  a 
couch,  and  applied  restoratives  to  her. 

It  was  long  ere  she  recovered— long  before 
she  quite  realized  her  position ;  then,  when, 
after  having  gazed  around  her,  having  recog- 
nized the  apartment,  and  the  faces  of  Countess 
and  Subtle,  her  maid,  she  remembered  her  in- 
terview with  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  what 
he  had  revealed  to  her,  she  commenced,  with- 
out uttering  a  word,  to  take  off  the  bracelets 
and  necklet  which  the  Countess — to  render  her 
resemblance  to  the  miniature  of  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Westchester  more  complete— had 
induced  her  to  wear. 

The  Countess  checked  her,  and  in  a  sooth- 
ing tone,  said : 

''"What  would  you  do,  ray  dear?  Pause, 
consider." 

Floret  shuddered. 

Siie  had  bten  considering,  and  elie  still  per- 


sisted in  removing  the  jewelry  with  which  ehe 
had  been  adorned. 

The  Marchioness  laid  her  hand  gently  upon 
her  arm.  She  turned  to  subtle,  and  said : 

"  Leave  us  for  a  minute  or  so,  Subtle.  I 
will  ring  for  you  when  I  want  you  again." 

Subtle  immediately  quitted  the  room,  and 
then  the  Countees,  seating  herself  by  the  side 
of  Floret,  placed  her  arm  about  her  waist. 

*'  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  in  a  tender  and 
encouraging  voice,  "  be  advised  by  xae.  Do 
not  suffer  what  you  have  heard  from  Lord 
Brackleigh's  lips  to  discourage  you.  He  has 
the  strongest  possible  motive  for  deceiving 
you,  but  we  ehall  triumphantly  refute  him 
yet." 

"  I  pray  you,  Lady  Brackleigb,  to  permit 
me  to  leave  your  house,"  said  Floret,  in  faint 
tones.  "I  am  so  utterly  crushed — to  remain 
here  will  only  add  to  the  agony  I  am  already 
suffering." 

"  You  shall  suffer  it  no  longer  !"  cried  the 
Countess,  rising.  "  I  will  at  once  produce  to 
you  an  official  copy  of  the  certificate  of  the 
marriage  between  the  then  Viscount  Bertram, 
under  the  name  of  Lennox  Bertram,  and  Con- 
stance Neville,  then  Miss  PJantagenet.  You 
will  see  that  there  are  various  names  attached 
to  the  document,  and  we  will  together  bunt 
them  all  up,  and  as  soon  as  we  have  procured 
all  the  necessary  evidence,  we  will  introduce 
you  to  the  fashionable  world  as  the  legitimate 
daughter  of  two  members  of  the  highest  and 
proudest  families  in  this  realm." 

Floret  said  nothing,  but  she  pressed  her 
hands  upon  her  throat  as  if  she  was  suffocat- 
ing. 

Lady  Brackleigh  assisted  her  to  rise,  and 
conducted  her  into  an  inner  apartment,  a  some- 
what small  room,  fitted  up  with  drawers,  and 
book-cases,  and  cabinets. 

To  one  of  the  latter  she  led  Floret,  nnH  hav- 
ing produced  a  bunch  of  small  keys,  she  ap- 
plied one  of  them  to  the  cabinet,  and  opened 
it ;  from  the  inside  she  drew  forth  a  jeweled 
box,  and  unlocking  it,  she  raised  the  lid. 

It  contained  several  papers,  8,11  of  which  she 
opened  in  turn,  refolded  and  replaced. 

She  came  to  the  last,  and  tore  it  open  with 
trembling  fingtrs,  and  gazed  upon  it  with  an 
expression  of  bitter  disappointment.  It  was 
not  the  paper  she  Bought. 

For  two  hours  she  ransacked  every  case, 
drawer,  cabinet,  box,  or  secret  place  where  a 
paper  would  be  deposited  in  safety,  but  in 
vain.  The  copy  of  the  certificate  was  not 
forthcoming. 

"  The  villain  has  stolen  it  from  me !"  she 
exclaimed,  with  unconcealed  rar*  "But  I 
will  have  back  it  again,  and  that  in  the  course 
of  a  few  hours  !" 

She  turned  to  Floret,  and  said,  with  all  the 
kindness  she  oould  press  into  the  tone  of  her 
voice : 

"  Do  not  be  disheartened,  do  not  be  discour- 
aged, my  poor  child,  all  will  yet  go  well. 
The  document  has,  I  am  sure,  been  pilfered 
from  me  by  the  person  from  whom  I  received 


uo 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


it ;  but  I  will  make  him  restore  it,  you  may  be 
assured.  It  will  then  be  all  the  same,  you 
know  as  if  I  produced  it  now.  Cheer  up 
your  spirits,  my  dear  child,  we  will  bring  these 
haughty  wicked  ones  to  our  feet  yet." 

la  faint  and  trembling  tones,  Floret  put  a 
few  questions  to  the  Countess,  and  elicited 
from  h  r  how  she  had  originally  obtained  the 
copy  of  the  certificate  ;  that  the  original  entry 
was  not  in  the  register-book,  but  had  evidently 
been  abstracted  ;  and  that,  in  short,  she  was  not 
in  possession  of  any  positive  evidence  that  her 
suppositions  were  facts. 

On  arriving  at  this  conclusion,  Floret's 
heart  died  hopelessly  within  her ;  she  became 
more  anxious  than  ever  to  depart ;  but  the 
Countess  told  her,  and  wrh  determination, 
too,  that  she  should  not  leave  her.  She  said 
she  was  as  convinced  of  her  legitimacy  as  she 
was  of  her  parentage,  and  she  would  not  per- 
mit her  to  quit  her  until  she  had  established 
both. 

Floret,  as  if  powerless  to  struggle,  appeared 
to  yield,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  seemed  calmer, 
though  still  deeply  depressed.  She  retired  to 
her  chamber  early,  on  the  plea  of  exhaustion, 
and  begged  not  to  be  disturbed  until  a  some- 
what advanced  hour  in  the  morning. 

The  Countess  acquiesced,  and  gave  the  ne- 
cessary instructions  to  Subtle. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Subtle  went  to  call  Floret,  and  assist  her  to 
dress  who  had  hitherto  dressed  herself. 

She  found  her  chamber  untenanted. 

Floret  had  resumed  her  own  dress,  and  had 
disappeared. 

The  house  was  searched.  No  one  had  seen 
her  depart.  Every  one,  Nat  included,  de- 
nied having  seen  her  quit  her  chamber  or  the 
house. 

The  Countess  ordered  her  carriage,  and 
tfrove  direct  to  Mrs.  Spencer's  residence,  at 
Pimlico  ;  but,  to  her  surprise  and  mortifica- 
tion, Floret  had  not  returned  there ;  they  had 
not  heard  of  her  since  she  had  left  them. 

The  Countess  waited  until  nightfall,  but 
Floret  did  not  come  home.  She  returned  to 
her  own  residence,  and  in  answer  to  her  in- 
quiries, she  was  informed  that  Floret  had  not 
been  Been  during  her  absence. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
"  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us ' 
Be  thou  a  spirit !  »  — SHAKKSP^ARE. 

A  week  elapsed.  No  tidings  of  Floret  had 
been  obtained  at  Pimlico. 
^  Ida  was  disconsolate,  despairing,  half  fran- 
tic, because  she  -did  not  know  what  to  do  to 
help  to  discover  her  friend.  She  was  so  utterly 
and  completely  ignorant  of  London  and  its 
labyrinths,  that  to  proceed  in  search  of  Floret 
was  to  become  lost  herself.  She  could  form 
no  idea  of  what  had  become  of  her,  eave  that 
she  had  several  times  intimated,  when  quite 
hopeless,  that  she  would  proceed  to  some  se- 
cure place,  and  there,  winning  just  enough 
bread  to  sustain  existence,  wear  out  her  life  in 
the  deepest  eeclusioh. 


Whether  that  obscurity  meant  some  purlien 
in  London,  or  some  out-of the -way  spot  in 
the  country,  she  was  unable  to  conjecture. 
She  was  unable,  in  fact,  to  afford  any  infor- 
mation which  could  direct  the  Countess  where 
Floret  was  likely  to  be  met  with,  or  to  famish 
herself  with  a  clue  by  which  she  could  fiud 
her  out  and  induce  her  tD  return  to  their  com- 
fortable apartments  in  Pimlico,  or  to  join  her, 
and  to  share  her  fate,  whatever  it  might  be. 

The  Countess,  who  found  that  her  threat  to 
the  Earl  had  had  the  effect  of  keeping  him 
in  London,  if  not  at  home,  found  also  that 
the  Marquis  and  Marchioness  of  Weatchester 
had  quitted  London  for  the  country — what 
part  of  it,  was  a  secret  which  was  extremely 
well  kept ;  for  she  had  for  years  been  mistress 
of  the  movements  of  the  Marchioness,  by  the 
aid  of  spies  in  her  household,  and  she  wae 
unable  at  present  to  learn  whether  thev  had 
gone. 

So  long  as  the  Earl  remained  in  London, 
she  cared  little  what  were  the  movements  of 
the  Marchioness,  and  this  gave  to  her  a  kind 
of  freedom  to  devote  her  energies  to  the  pros- 
ecution of  a  search  for  Floret 

She  lost  no  time  in  setting  detectives  to 
work.  The  Thames,  the  Serpentine,  the  orna- 
mental waters  in  the  Park  were  dragged ;  a 
circular  was  sent  round  to  the  various  stations, 
and  an  advertisement  was  placed  in  the  second 
column  of  the  Times,  describing  the  appear- 
ance and  attire  of  a  missing  young  lady  ;  and 
a  reward  was  offered  for  any  information  which 
might  lead  to  her  discovery. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  unhappinesa  which 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  Floret  had 
caused  her,  Ida  would  at  this  very  period 
have  been  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight, 
for  among  those  who  busied  themselves 
greatly  to  attempt  to  discover  what  had  be- 
come of  Floret,  was  the  Honorable  Hyde 
Vaughan. 

He  seemed  to  be  really  anxious  respecting 
her;  for  he  made  his  appearance  at  Mrs. 
Spencer's  every  day — sometimes  twice  a  day—- 
and he  felt  bound  'each  time  to  consult  with 
Ida.  It  is  true,  ehe  was  unable  to  furnish 
him  with  any  information  which  could  help 
his  investigations  ;  but  then  she  had  always  a 
suggestion  or  two  to  offer,  out  of  which  some- 
thing might  be  made,  and  she  was  so  eagerly 
desirous  of  knowing  what  success  he  had  met 
with,  and  she  looked  so  exceedingly  charming 
in  her  excitement,  that  he  found  it  impossible 
to  suffer  a  day  to  pass  away  without  calling 
to  let  her  know  how  affairs  were  progressing, 
or  to  ask  whether  she  had  any  new  sugges- 
tions to  make. 

And  she  came  to  think  him  the  kindest, 
gentlest,  sweet- tempered,,  handsome,  young, 
dear  darling  she  had  ever  met  in  the  course 
of  her  short  life,  or  ever  could  meet  with,  if 
she  lived  ever  so  long. 

And  he  thought  her  the  prettiest  and  most 
fascinating  creature  he  had  ever  known. 
And  that  at  the  time  was  all  he  thought. 
He  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  acting 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


dishonorably  to  her ;  but  the  idea  of  marrying 
her  certainly  never  occurred  to  him. 

It  waa  a  dangerous  position  for  them  both. 

Of  the  most  earnest,  unflagging,  unwearied 
in  the  search  of  Floret  was  Lord  Victor.  His 
intimacy  with  Lady  Brackleigh  had  increased 
since  Floret  had  become  her  protegee.  It  had 
grown  closer  still  after  he,  by  accident,  un- 
known to  anybody,  even  Floret  herself,  had 
seen  her  in  the  habiliments  which  she  had 
worn  at  the  desire  of  the  Countess,  so  that 
she  might  closely  resemble  the  miniature  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Westchester. 

That  the  glimpse  from  one  of  the  reception- 
room  windows  which  overlooked  an  apartment 
in  which  Floret  was  standing  reading  a  book, 
had  convinced  him  that,  whatever  might  be 
her  origin,  she  was  the  loveliest  creature  upon 
which  his  eyes  had  ever  fallen. 

And  he  thought  that,  supposing  she  were 
nameless,  she  could  not  be  a  more  exquisite 
example  of  her  Maker's  work,  nor  more  wor- 
thy if  ehe  were  a  born  duchess. 

He  had  learned  to  value  his  kind  by  their 
intrinsic  worth.  He  attached  no  value  to 
rack  or  appearance,  which  he  knew  were  but 
contemptible  frippery  after  all. 

If  ever  man  set  himself  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  task  with  a  determination  to  succeed, 
Lord  Victor,  in  his  resolve  to  find  Floret,  was 
the  man. 

He  listened  to  all  the  Countess  had  to  say 
about  her,  with  the  deepest  attention.  He 
had  no  doubt,  after  she  had  revealed  every- 
thing to  him,  that  Floret  was  the  daughter  of 
the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  and  the  Marchioness 
of  Westchester,  but  that  a  marriage  had  taken 
place  between  the  latter  pair  was  to  his  mind 
doubtful — at  least,  he  considered  the  evidence 
very  inconclusive. 

Still  it  was  enough  to  deepen,  if  anything 
could,  his  interest  in  the  poor,  bruised,  heart 
broken  girl. 

He  listened  to  all  that  Ida  could  tell  him, 
and  then  he  formed  his  plan  of  proceeding. 

He  had  but  one  assistant  in  his  service,  and 
that  was  Mrs.  Spencers  nephew,  Bob,  the  pub- 
lican, who,  when  requested  by  his  aunt  to  aid 
in  the  search  for  the  lost  girl,  replied,  em- 
phatically : 

"  I  think  so !" 

A  fortnight  elapsed,  and  still  no  tidings,  and 
every  one  grew  very  uneasy  except  Lord  Vic- 
tor and  Bob ;  they  kept  up  their  search  with 
unflagging  spirit,  and  endeavored  to  inspire 
others  with  hope. 

Neither  Lord  Victor  nor  Bob  entertainec 
any  supposition  that  Floret  had  laid  violenl 
hands  upon  her  life.  Bob,  in  fact,  made  wp 
his  mind  that  the  gipsies  had  got  hold  of  her 
again ;  while  Lord  Victor,  remembering  what 
Ida  had  said,  and  impressed  by  Floret's  own 
observation  to  him,  that  her  lot  henceforth 
must  be  lonely  obscurity,  was  equally  as  cer 
tain  that  ehe  had  obtained  apartments  in  a 
closely  and  densely-populated  poor  locality 
where  no  one  would  dr«am  of  searching  for 
her,  and  where  she  would  be  able  to  pass  the 


remainder  of  her  life  unregarded    and    un- 
"  nown. 

To  search  every  such  locality  he  applied 
iis  beet  energies.  He  was  accompanied  in  his 
abors  by  Bob,  and  assisted  in  his  searches  by 
one  of  the  ablest  and  most  astute  detectives 
belonging  to  Scotland  Yard. 

"While  he  was  thus  employed,  and  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh  was  enpaged  in  en- 
deavoring to  ascertain  whether  Nat  Ferret  had 
robbed  her  of  the  copy  of  the  certificate — 
which  he  stoutly  denied — and  was  devising 
means  to  discover  whether,  in  spite  of  his  de- 
nial, he  had  it  yet  in  his  possession,  her  maid, 
Subtle,  approached  her,  and  informed  her  that 
a  young  woman  was  very  desirous  of  speaking  . 
with  her  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Did  she  mention  her  business ?"  inquired 
the  Countess. 

"  No,  my  Lady,"  replied  Subtle. 
"  Nor  give  any  name  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Yes,  my  Lady  ;  she  said  her  name  was  Mrs. 
Henry  Vere,"  returned  Subtle. 

"  I  know  no  person  of  that  name,"  observed 
the  Countess,  musingly. 

"Not  of  that  name,"  responded  Subtle; 
"  but  I  thick  yon  know  the  yonng  woman. 
She  was  a  dressmaker,  who  had  something  to 
do  with  that  young  lady  who  was  here  the 
other  day — that  ia,  when  she  was  a  child,  and 
had  the  scarlet  fever." 

"  I  remember  perfectly,"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  quickly ;  "  her  name  was  Atten — 
Susan  Atten ;  show  her  in  instantly,  Subtle.  I 
will  see  her,  to  be  sure  I  will  see  her." 

Subtle  disappeared,  and  in  a  minute  or  two 
re-appeared,  followed  by  a  young  woman  very 
genteelly  dressed. 

As  soon  as  the  Countess  turned  her  eyes 
upon  her,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  remember  you — your  name  was  Atten, 
was  it  not?" 

"  It  was,  my  Lady  "  replied  the  young  wom- 
an, "  Susan  Atten  ;  it  is  now  Vere.  I  am  the 
wife  of  Henry  Vere,  who — " 

"I  remember,"  interposed  the  Countess; 
and  said,  kindly,  "be  seated.  Subtle,"  she 
added,  "  be  good  enough  to  leave  us." 

Subtle  quitted  the  room,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her  with  seeming  readiness. 

As  she  could,  from  a  crevice  which  she  had 
formed  with  patience  and  care  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  hear  all  that  was  said  in  that  in 
which  the  Countess  and  Susan  were  seated,  it 
did  not  vex  her  to  be  sent  out  of  the  room. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  the  Countess, 
eyeing  Susan,  said":  "You  have  been  abroad?" 
"  Yes,  my  Lady,  to  Canada,"  she  replied. 
"  Ah !    If  I  remember  rightly,  your  present 
husband  wrote  for  you  to  come  over  to  him  ?" 
"  He  did,  my  Lady,  and  I  went  over  to  him, 
and  reached  him  and  his  friends  safely,"  re- 
plied Susan. 

"  His  friends,"  repeated  the  Countess,  mu- 
singly ;  "his  friends;  let  me  see.  What  have 
I  on  ray  mind  respecting  his  connections?" 

"His  brother,  perhaps,  my  Lady,"  suggested 
Susan,  rather  faintly. 


142 


HAGAE  LOT  ; 


"Ilia  brother,"  echoed  the  Ooanfess,  re- 
flectively. "  How  inactive  my  memory  is  1  I 
have  no  recollections  which  point  to  the  bro- 
ther of  i  he  young  man  you  went  out  to  marry. 
Can  you  not  aid  my  feeble  brain  ?" 

"His  brother,  my  Lady,"  answered  Susan, 
Bt&mmeriBgly,  "  was  to — was  to  have  married 
—the — the  young  woman — who  lived  at  Beach- 
borough — and  who  was  supposed  to  have  been 
—the — that  is,  she  first  brought  to  the  village 
the  Poor  Girl — that  is,  I  mean,  my  Lady— tnat 
child  who  was  in  my  care — " 

"  I  remembernow  1"  exclaimed  the  Countess, 
abruptly,  and  with  some  licile  excitement. 
"His  brother  is  the  joung  man  who  was 
charged  with  the  murder  of  tne  girl  Shelley  r" 

"  Yes,  my  Lidy,"  returned  Susan,  still  dis- 
playing embarrassment. 

"  And  was  he  r3ally  guiliy  of  th«t  horrible 
crime  f "  ehe  aaked,  looking  eearehingly  at  Su- 
san's face. 

A  crimson  flush  suffused  Susan's  features, 
tears  sprang  into  her  eyes,  and  she  replied, 
•with  a  rather  remarkable  degree  of  earnest- 
ness :  *  He  was  not,  my  Lady  ;  indeed,  in  - 
deed  he  was  not  !" 

"  Circumstances  were  very  strong  against 
him,"  rejoined  the  Counteas,  eyeing  her  nar- 
rowly, "  if  I  remember  correctly  what  you 
yourself  told  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  Lady,"  returned  Susan,  with 
peculiar  animation.  "  Yes,  my  Lady  ;  but  I 
was  deceived  by  appearances,  as  all  who  lived 
in  the  village  were." 

"  By  appearances !"  repeated  the  Countess, 
regarding  her  with  a  penetrating  look.  "  Well, 
as  I  have  said  before,  they  looked  so  black 
again&t  him  that  he  was  discharged  only  be- 
%  cauee  no  actual  proofs  could  be  produced 
against  him.  But  no  one,  you  said,  thought 
him  innocent  I" 

»         "  No,  my  Lady ;  but  they  all  wronged  him !" 
exclaimed  Susan,  earnestly. 

"  What  was  his  name  ?"  asked  the  Countess, 
not  for  a  moment  removing  her  eyes  from 
Susan's  face. 

"  Stephen  Vere,  my  Lady,"  replied  Susan, 
trembling,  as  if  she  wa3  under  the  cross-exam- 
ination of  an  astute  counsel,  having  committed 
some  evil  deed. 

"You  saw  him  in  Canada?"  said  the  Coun- 
tess, interrogatively. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  Lady.  It  was  upon  his  farm 
that  my  huaband  was  living  when  I  went  to 
join  him." 

"  Did  his  brother  believe  him  to  be  guilty 
of  the  horrid  crime?"  asked  the  Countess, 
quickly. 

"  At  first,  perhaps  my  Lady  ;  but— but  af- 
terward he  knew  him  not  to  be!"  returned 
Susan. 

"  Knew  him  not  to  be  I"  echoed  the 
Countess,  with  a  tone  of  surprise.  '-How 
could  he  know  him  not  to  be  guilty?" 

Suean  remained  silent,  and  cast  her  eyes 
upon  tbe  floor. 

"I  suppose  he  told  him  that  he  was  not 
guilt  j  i  tn?''  observed  the  Countess. 


Susan  raised  her  eyes ;  but  sbs  found  those 
of  the  Countess  so  intently  fixed  upon  her* 
that  she  dropped  them  again,  and,  in  a  con- 
fused tone,  replied:  "  Yes,  ye?,  ray  Lidy." 

The  Countess  shrugged  ner  shoulders. 

"  That  docs  not  go  very  far  to  establish  his 
innocence,"  she  observed ;  and  added  :  "You 
believed  him  guilty  until  you  went  to  Canada, 
eh?" 

"  I  —I— feared  that  he  wad  so,  my  Lady  I" 
she  replied. 

"  But,  upon  reaching  Canada,  you  discover- 
ed your  error  ?'  she  pursued,  rapidly. 

"  Yes ;  oh,  yes,  my  Lady,"  returned  Suaan, 
with  eogerness. 

"How?"  asked  the  Countess,  sharply  and 
emphatically. 

Susan  locked  at  her  for  an  instant  with 
something  like  affright,  and,  shrinking  bock  a 
pace  or  two,  burst  into  tears. 

The  Countess  regarded  her  with  almost  in- 
tense interest. 

She  remained  silent  for  a  minute,  and 
then  said,  iu  a  softer  tciie  than  she  had  yet 
used  : 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  good  girl.  My  ob- 
ject in  putting  the  questions  I  have  addressed 
and  may  submit  to  you,  is  one  of  importance. 
It  can  entail  no  injury  to  you,  nor  upon  your 
connections,  and  may  be  the  means  of  effecting 
a  great  result." 

SUE  an  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and 
said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  am  sure,  my  Lady,  that  goodness  and 
kindness  alone  urge  you  to  question  me,  and  I 
hope  you  will  pardon  my  foolish  weakness; 
but  the  circumstances  are  all  of  them  of  the 
deepest  and  most  painful  interest  to  me,  and 
when  I  think  of  what  has  happened,  and  what 
may  yet  happen,  I  cannot  help  being  af- 
fected." 

"  I  understand  you,"  returned  the  Countess, 
readily  ;  "  and  I  will  endeavor  to  avoid  press- 
ing tou  closely  on  any  point  which  may  pain 
you.  The  subject,  however,  is  one  in  which  I 
am  as  deeply  interested  as  you  are ;  nay,  I 
am  more  nearly  concerned  than  you  can  pos- 
sibly be,  and,  therefore,  I  am  compelled,  as  it 
were,  to  put  questions  to  you,  which,  under 
other  circumstances,  an  ordinarily-delicate 
consideration  for  your  feelings  would  induce 
me  to  withhold." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  returned  Susan,  quietly. 

"  You  saw  Stephen  Vere,  of  course,  OD  reach- 
ing his  homestead,"  pursued  the  Countess. 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  Susan. 

"  Was  he  married  ?" 

"  No — n — no,  my  Lady." 

"  Had  he  a  housekeeper  ?" 

"  His  elder  sister,  my  Lady." 

<!  Ah — his  eldest  eister,"  repeated  tbe  Count- 
ess, with  a  tone  of  disappointment.  Then  she 
subjoined,  "  You  conversed  with  him?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lady." 

"Often?" 
"  Very  often." 

"Yoa  talked  of  old  times  wh«u  y«u  knew 
e&cli  other  at  Eociohborough?" 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


"  Yes,  my  Lidy." 

"  Aori  of  events  which  had  taken  place  after 
he  left  England  V" 

"  Y*s  my  l*dy." 

"And  before  be  departed?" 

This  qutstion  was  put  with  rapidity  and 
marked  empties. 

"  Yes,  my  Lidy,"  replied  Susan,  with  far 
more  com  poeure  than  the  Countess  expected 
to  see  her  di-plvy;  "we  talked  over  every- 
thing th*t  had  bapjjened  b^th  before  and  alter 
he  went  away,  noy  Lidy." 

"  Without  reserve?" 

"  Witaout  any  reserve  whatever,  my  Lady." 

"And  jou  new  firmly  believe  him  to  be 
innocent  of  the  murder  of  the  girl  Saelley  ?" 

«•!  am  convinced  of  it,  my  Lady,  as  firmly 
as  that  I  am  here  before  you,"  replied  Susan, 
with  ranch  earnestness. 

"  What  brought  you  back  to  England  ?"  in- 
quired the  Countess. 

"  Tho  same  cause  which  has  induced  me  to 
come  to  you,  my  Lady,"  returned  Susan.  "  I 
•want  to  discover  poor  little  Floret ;  or,  as  we 
kneir  her  in  the  village,  the  Poor  Girl,  my 
Lady." 

The  Countess  remained  silent  for  a  short  pe- 
riod, endeavoring  to  peruse  in  Susan's  fea- 
tures what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  Present- 
ly she  said : 

"  Your  husband  has,  of  course,  returned 
with  you?" 

*«  Yes,  my  Lady." 

"  And  you  have  left  his  brother,  the  sus- 
pected, behind  ?" 

'•  N  \  my  Lady ;  he  sold  his  farm,  and  has 
returned  with  us." 

The  Countess  started. 

"  Wi^h  you — then  he  is  here  in  London?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lady." 

"  He  was  the  last  person  at  Beachborough 
who  was  known  to  have  seen  and  spoken  with 
Shelley  alive,  was  he  not?" 

Susan's  voice  slightly  faltered,  as  she  re- 
plied:  * 

**  Ye — yes,  my  Lady." 

"  I  must  see  him.  You  must  not  on  any 
account  permit  him  to  quit  London  without 
giving  me  an  interview." 

"  He  will  have  no  objection  to  give  your  la- 
dyship an  interview,  I  am  sure." 

•'If  I  can  proclaim  and  establish  his  inno- 
cence in  Beachborough,  I  will ;  but  he  muet 
render  me  some  service  in  accomplishing  the 
great  object  which  I  have  been  for  years  en- 
deavoring to  obtain." 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  my  Lady,  that  he  will  be 
ready  to  render  your  ladyship  any  service 
which  lies  in  his  power,"  answered  Susan, 
quietly. 

"  I  am  very  delighted  to  hear  you  say  so.  I 
expeat  great  help  from  him." 

SUSSH  shook  her  head  slightly,  as  much  as 
to  insinuate  that  the  Countess's  anticipations 
would  scarcely  be  likely  to  be  realized.  The 
Counteea  did  not  appear  to  heed  this  gesture, 
but  eirked : 

"What  is  your  address?" 


"  Little  Elizabeth  street,  Pimlico,  next  door 
to  the  house  in  which  I  lived  before  I  went 
away  from  England,"  she  answered.  "My 
old  abode  I  fouud  on  my  return  occupied,  and 
so  we  took  the  next  house,  iu  the  hope  that  if 
Floret  searched  for  us  in  that  neighborhood 
she  would  be  able  to  find  us." 

The  Countess  shook  her  head  in  her  turn.     ' 

"Does  your  ladyship  know  where  I  can  find 
her  ?"  inquired  Susan  with  eagerness,  miscon- 
struing her  movement  of  the  head  into  an  inti- 
mation that  Floret,  perhaps,  was  too  proud 
now  to  visit  the  humble  street  in  which  sho 
had  once  lived  with  her. 

Suaan  had  always  faith  in  the  idea  that  the 
Poor  Girl  would  become  a  great  lady,  and  she 
seemed  to  have  been  long  enough  away  from 
her  own  country  fur  that  event  to  have  been 
now  brought  about. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  where  you  can  find 
her,"  returned  the  Countess.  "  I  do  not  know, 
and  I  am  convinced  that  no  one  else  but  her- 
self can  furnish  you  with  that  information. 
Sail,  I  hope  shortly  to  be  able  to  tffird  you 
the  satisfaction  of  meeting  with  her.  Had  you 
arrived  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  earlier,  you 
would  have  met  with  her  here." 

"  O  mercy  !  here  ?"  cried  Suaan,  excitedly.   , 

"  In  this  room,"  returned  the  Countess. 

Susan  instantly  rattled  off  fifty  questions 
respecting  her,  which  the  Countess  briefly  an* 
swered. 

"You  will  find  her  much  changed,"  con- 
tinued the  Couutess.  "  She  has  grown  much, 
and  is  now  a  tall,  elegant  girl,  with  beautiful 
features,  and  a  peculiarly  lofty  bearing." 

"And  pray,  my  Lady,  does  she  resemble  in 
the  face  any— any  one  great  lady  in  partic- 
ular?" inquired  Susan,  with  undisseinbled  agi- 
tation. 

"  bhe  does,  indeed,"  replied  the  Countess, 
eyeing  her  curiously,  as  if  somewhat  surprised 
by  the  question.  "She  bears  the  most  extra- 
ordinary resemblance  to  the  Marchioneaa  of 
Westchester." 

"Who— who— was  a  Miss  Constance  Planta- 
genet,"  exclaimed  Susan,  eagerly. 

"  The  eame  individual,"  responded  the- 
Countees,  with  a  curling  lip. 

"  Thank  Heaven !"  ejaculated  Susan,  clasp- 
ing her  hands. 

" For  what?"  asked  the  Countess. 

"  For  that  news,"  replied  Sasan,  with  tears- 
in  her  eyes.  "  O  my  Lady,  you  do  not  know—- 
you cannot  have  any  idea— how  much  there  is 
attached  to  that  fact!" 

"  I  can  guess,"  she  exclaimed,  dryly ;  and, 
looking  at  her  watch,  she  added,  "I  nave  an 
engagement  at  hand  which  I  must  keep.  I 
cannot,  therefore,  spare  you  any  more  time 
this  morning ;  but  I  have  your  addreea,  and 
the  moment  I  obtain  any  tidings  of  Floret,  as 
you  call  her— I  know  her  by  a  different  ap- 
pellation— I  will  communicate  with  you;  in- 
deed, you  may  call  at  the  place  where  ehe  was 
living  when  I  discovered  her  recently  on  your 
way  home ;  they  may  have  heard  there  some- 
thing about  her.  Mention  my  name  to  the 


144 


HAGAIl  LOT  ; 


the  house,  and  she  will  tell 
you  anything  which  she  may  know,  and  much, 
probably,  that  will  interest  you.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

The  Countess  rang  her  bell ;  she  gave  Susan 
Mrs.  Spencer's  address ;  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, Subtle  appeared  at  the  door.  Susan 
courtesyed,  and  withdrew. 

She  hurried  awaj  toward  Mrs.  Spencer's 
abode,  and  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  reach- 
ing Itj  she  felt  a  touch  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
a  voice  exclaimed : 

"I  think  so!" 

She  turned  rapidly  round. 

"  Bob !"  she  cried,  quickly. 

"  Well,  I  think  so,  Susy,"  he  returned ;  and 
they  actually  embraced  in  the  street,  without 
either  knowing  what  they  were  about. 

"  How  old  is  your  sister  1"  said  Bob,  with  a 
tremendously  roguish  twinkle  of  the  eye. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Bob,"  she  cried,  "  but  an- 
swer all  my  questions,  and  tell  me  everything 
you  know." 

Bob  listened  to  her  attentively,  complied 
patiently,  perseveringly,  and  with  perspicuity. 

When  she  had  exhausted  her  questions,  and 
him,  too,  she  said  : 

"  Now,  Bob,  come  home  with  me,  and  see 
Harry." 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said. 

Arm-in-arm  they  made  their  way  to  Little 
Elizabeth  street,  and  paused  before  the  door 
of  the  house  in  which  Susan  now  dwelt  with 
her  husband. 

Susan  opened  the  door  with  a  key,  and  as 
JJob  entered,  she  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

She  beckoned  him  to  follow  her  up-stairs, 
and  he  did  so,  softly,  because  he  observed  that 
she  stepped  lightly. 

On  reaching  the  door  of  a  front  room,  she 
opened  it,  and  motioned  him  to  enter. 

He  did  ao,  with  a  chuckle,  but  instantly 
started,  and  recoiled  a  step. 

His  face  became  as  white  as  death,  he  gasp- 
ed for  breath. 

"  My  Lord! — my  Lord !"  he  ejaculated. 

Then  there  was  a  rush  of  blinding  tears  to 
2iis  eyes,  and  he  muttered,  hoarsely  : 

" I— I— I  think  so  I" 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
"Ye  stars !  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven, 
If  in  jour  bright  leaves  man  would  read  the  fate 
Of  men  and  empires,  it  is  to  be  forgiven 
That,  in  their  aspirations  to  be  great, 
Their  destinies  o'erstep  their  mortal  state, 
For  ye  are  a  wonder  and  a  mystery." 

— BTBON. 

Upon  the  night  subsequent  to  the  meeting 
of  Hagar  Lot  with  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  she 
stood  alone  with  Li  per  Leper  upon  one  of  the 
wildest  and  most  picturesque  parts  of  Hamp- 
stead  Heath. 

The  sun  was  setting  with  a  stormy,  angry 
aspect,  and  threw  a  fiery  glare  over  the  sandy 
hillocks  and  the  patches  of  dark  gorse,  which 
assumed  a  rich  purple  tint  in  the  fast  fading 
light.  The  distant  landscape  had  already 
merged  into  a  deep  blue  misty  haze  of  various 


gradations  of  color,  dotted  here  and  there,  and 
unevenly  lined,  indicating  the  masses  of  wood- 
land and  undulating  ridges,  which,  in  the 
broad  daylight,  were  prominent  and  attractive 
features  in  the  view. 

To  the  eastward,  where  the  sky  was  yet  un- 
obscurf«i  by  the  swiftly-rising,  vapory  clouds, 
the  moon  appeared — a  thin  silver  creacent, 
only  just  visible.  Below  it  a  star  was  glitter- 
ing brightly,  and  close  to  it,  so  that  it  seemed 
to  touch,  was  another  star,  paler  and  brighter 
in  its  brilliancy. 

Hagar  stood  with  her  back  to  the  sun,  watch- 
ing those  two  stars  with  intense  interest ;  and 
Liper  Leper,  with  a  gloomy  paze  from  be- 
neath his  bent  brows,  was  occupied  in  regard- 
ing her  yet  beautiful  countenance  with  fixed 
earnestness. 

For  a  short  time  they  stood  without  moving 
a  limb,  and  perfectly  silent,  both  intent  on  the 
exclusive  object  of  their  thoughts. 

At  length,  the  occultation  of  the  faint  star 
was  completed,  and  Hagar,  taming  her  face 
away,  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands.  Liper 
Leper  removed  his  gaze  from  her  face,  and 
turned  sullenly  from  her. 

Hagar  presently  withdrew  her  hands  from 
her  face,  and  muttered : 

"  So  it  is  accomplished !" 

Liper  moved  his  head  slowly  round,  and 
bending  his  dark  eyes  upon  her,  asked, 
coldly ; 

"  What  is  accomplished  ?" 

"  The  star  of  my  destiny  is  obscured  by  that 
of  another,"  she  replied. 

Liper  Leper  cast  his  eyes  upward  to  the  star 
upon  which  she  had  been  gazing. 

"  It  is  the  star  of  the  White  Rose,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  Floret's,"  she  replied,  gloomily. 

"Ic  shines  more  brightly  than  ever,"  he 
said,  musingly. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Hagar ;  and  then,  glanc- 
ing at  the  sun,  added,  "  a  wild  storm  is  brew- 
ing." 

"Yet  will  it  be  higher  and  brightei  in  the 
heavens  to-morrow,"  he  returned,  with  a  slow, 
marked  enunciation;  "and  higher  still,  and 
higher  and  brighter,  too,  will  it  become.  Do 
you  know  that,  Hagar  ?" 

She  frowned,  and  with  a  malignant  expres- 
sion, replied : 

"  Her  star  has  eclipsed  my  star  to  be  itself 
eclipsed,  Her  race  is  nearly  run." 

"How  know  you  that?"  he  asked,  mo- 
rosely. 

"  Why  ask  me  when  you  have  already  as- 
sumed that  I  know  her  star  to  be  in  the  as- 
cendancy ?"  she  answered.  "  I  tell  you, 
Liper,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"  I  know  that  as  I  know  other  events.  I  can 
read  the  mind  of  others  as  clearly  as  I  can 
trace  the  paths  of  the  planets,  and  interpret  by 
their  courses  the  shape  that  circumstances 
will  take. 

"Can  you  read  my  mind  so  clearly, 
Hagar?"  he  asked,  in  a  half  scornful  tone. 

"You  shall  know  ere  we  part,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Before  that  takes  place,  I  wish  you 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


(to  heed  me,  and  to  add  another  service  to  the 

knaiiy  which  you  have  already  performed  for 

toe." 

|    He  half  turned  gloomily  from  her. 

I    Her  eyes  flished  brightly  as  she  observed 

the  gesture,  and  her  lip  slightly  curled. 

I    "  Is  has  been  a  long  servitude,  Liper,"  she 

isaid,  '•  but  it  is  near  its  regard." 

I    She  might  have  heard  his  teeth  grate,  if  she 

bad  listened.    She  sa<r,  hotrerer,  that  he  did 

(not  turn  his  face  toward  her,  and  advancing 

a  step  nearer  to  him,  she  laid  her  hand  gently 

upon  his  shoulder. 

He  rtcoiied  from  her  touch,  and  she  regard- 
ed him  instantly  with  wonder,  and  an  emotion 
irhieh  was  very  like  fear. 

There  was  an  aspect,  too,  of  intense  cu- 
•iosity  in  the  searching  look  she  bent  upon 
iim.  Her  mind  raced  over  a  hundred  various 
ncidents  which  were  calculated  to  work  this 
change  in  him,  but  she  was  unable  to  fasten 
upon  one  as  the  true  one. 

Sail  keeping  her  bright  eye  fixed  upon  his, 
ihe  said,  with  great  sternness — 

"  You  are  changed,  Liper." 

"  Mo,  Hftger,"  he  answered,  with  a  bitter- 

ss  in  his  tone  which  did  not  escape  her,  "  I 
im  unchanged." 

"  There  is  something  on  your  mind  which  is 
unfavorable  to  me,"  she  replied ;  "  of  that  I 
am  certain.  What  is  it  ?" 

He  almost  closed  his  eyes  with  a  sullen  ex- 
pression. 

11  Let  us  not  speak  of  that  now,"  he  answer- 
ed. "  What  service  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do 
for  you?  Let  me  know  that  before  we  proceed 
io  any  other  subject." 

Htgar  agaiu looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

"  You  do  not  speak  to  me,  you  do  not  look 
upon  me,  as  of  old,  Liper,"  she  observed,  in  a 
thoughtful  tone.  "Well,  it  is  the  first  sign 
ihafc  my  star  has  entered  its  last  gloomy  phase. 
It  is  a  token  that  there  is  but  a  small  period 
remaining  in  which  I  can  perform  my  allotted 
task.  Let  it  pass.  What  matters  a  blow  more 
or  less  to  a  broken  heart?" 

He  bent  his  head  down,  and  he  moved  the 
point  of  his  foot  uneasily  about  the  loose  sand, 
but  he  offered  no  remark. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  after  another 
an  J  more  prolonged  scrutiny  of  his  features, 
•without  obtaining  a  more  satisfactory  result 
than  before,  she  said  to  him  : 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  of  the  White 
Eose." 

He  looked  up  instantly  and  attentively. 

"  You  are  interested  in  her  fate,"  she  said 
sharply. 

««I  am,"  he  replied  steadily. 

"  Why?"  she  inquired,  a  little  eagerly. 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
evasively :  "  It  is  interwoven  with  yours." 

She  looked  earnestly  at  him,  as  if  to  ascer- 
tain whether  that  he  made  that  observation 
truthfully,  but  his  lips  were  compressed  to- 
gether, aud  his  features  appeared  so  rigidly 
eet  that  she  was  left  to  place  her  own  inter- 
pretation upon  it. 


"  That  is  a  feeling,"  she  said,  presently, 
"  who  i  may  change  with  those  which  have 
alre*itly  altered.  Our  fate  are  no  longer  im- 
terwuven;  her  star  still  shines  brightly  — 
tuioe  is  obscured;  the  future  is  a  mist,  out  of 
whioti  I  must  fashion  my  own  end  as  best  I 
can.  For  years  I  hive  had  but  one  object, 
and  that  accomplished,  I  care  not  what  fol- 
lows. The  wuriJ,  but  for  this  purpose,  would 
be  but  a  black  to  me  :  that  attained,  the  rest 
will  be — chaos." 

He  gLmoed  at  her  as  she  uttered  the  last 
words,  and  an  expression  of  inward  pain  passed 
faintly  over  his  features. 

"  Wnat  is  that  end,  JtLagar  ?"  he  asked,  with 
earnestness. 

4t  Reverge !"  she  replied  emphatically. 

"Upon,  whom — the  White  Rosa  ?"  he  asked* 
recoling. 

Sae  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

'•  Upon  one  who  has  wronged  me  so  irre- 
parably, that  no  retribution  which  I  can  de- 
vice will  approach  his  deserts!"  she  ex* 
claimed. 

"I  understand,"  he  rejoined,  in  a  sullen 
tone. 

"  You  do  not,  Liper,  you  cannot ;  your 
most  fertile  brain  cannot  conceive  the  measure 
of  my  wrong !"  she  rejoined,  excitedly.  4i  You," 
she  added,  with  a  curl  of  her  upper  lip — "  you, 
what  can  you  knew  of  my  inexplicable 
wrongs  I'* 

He  remained  silent. 

"  They  are  nursed,  cherished,  fed  in  my  own 
bosom,"  she  continued ;  "  and  they,  ever  gnaw- 
ing at  my  heart,  they  stimulate  me,  unceasing- 
ly, to  achieve  that  species  of  revenge  which 
will  inflict  pain  forever  on  earth  on  the  author 
of  my  miseries!" 

"  Let  us  speak  of  th^  White  Rose,"  said , 
Liper,  in  a  hoarse  undertone. 

"I  rm  about  to  do  so,"  rejoined  Hagar; 
"  for  she  will  be  one  of  the  instruments  bj 
which  I  shall  work." 

He  glanced  furtively  at  her,  but  said  noth- : 
ing. 

44  Have  you  sought  for  her  since  you  parted 
with  her  when  on  her  way  to  London  ?"  she 
asked. 

"I hare,"  he  replied,  lacanically. 

"And  have  discovered  her?"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"No!"  he  returned,  as  briefly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  where  to  seek  for  her,"  she 
rejoined.  "  Sne  is  where  those  now  in  search 
of  her  will  never  dream  of  seeking  her.  I 
happened  to  learn  by  accident,  a  sbort  time 
back,  where  she  was  kept  as  a  prized  secret, 
to  be  brought  forward  at  some  momeat  suita- 
ble to  the  striking  of  a  vengeful  blow — a  blow 
which,  however  well  merited,  would  afford  to 
me  no  a  ;onement.  I,  therefore,  watched  the 
building  in  which,  if  I  may  judge  by  her  sub- 
sequent conduct,  she  was  detained  more  as  ft 
prisoner  than  as  a  guest.  i 

"I  stationed  m\self  at  a  post  where,  from 
dawn  to  dark,  I  "could  watcti  the  rooms  in 
which  I  supposed  her  to  be  kept,  and  won  my 


iuo 


HAGAK  LOT  ; 


reward,  some  three  weeks  since,  by  observing, 
in  ibe  Kr»y  of  the  dairn,  a  window  overlooking 
a  terrace  leidirig  to  the  garden  open,  a  female 
push  herself  through,  and  drop  OQ  to  the  paved 
floor.  *•  It  was  the  White  Ro?e ! 

**  She  hurried  down  the  garden,  and  unlock- 
ed a  email  ga'e,  which  led  into  the  street  be- 
yond She  passed  through  the  doorway,  closed 
the  door,  and  pressed  onward.  1  followed  her 
quickly,  and  *.aw  her  run  wildly  through  street 
after  eireet,  as  if  regardless  of  the  oireciion 
she  was  taking,  so  that  she  was  enabled  to 
gee  far  away  from  the  house  she  had  just 
quilted. 

"Tnrottgh  the  labyrinth  of  streets  she  hur- 
ried, wi'bou-k  pausicg,  until  she  found  herself 
upon  the  banks  of  the  river  which  flows  through 
the  hfarfc  of  yonder  huge  city.  At  first  I  en- 
tertained the  impression  that  it  was  her  inten- 
-  ion  to  drown  herself — " 

"ALd  you  rushed  forward  to  seize  her?" 
interrup  ed  Liper  Leper,  with  ardor. 

Stie  gazed  at  him  beneath  her  knitted 
browa. 

"  No  !1f  she  replied,  coldly.  "  I  knew  that 
tbe  hoar  had  passed  which  made  my  life  hang 
upon  her  safety,  and  I  was  curious  to  see  in 
what;  direction  her  fate  would  conduct  her." 

"Hagnr,  Hagar!  you  did  not,  you  could  rot 
etand  by  and  see  the  White  Koee  take  the 
dread  leap  into  eternity,  without  one  tffort  to 
gave  her,"  cried  Liper  Leper,  clutching  at 
Hagir's  wrist  with  a  grip  wnioii  made  her 
wince  with  pain. 

"  Why  not?  '  answered  Hagar,  flinging  off 
his  gr&ep.  "(What  vtas  she  to  me  more 
than  a  means  by  whica  I  could  wreak  revenge 
upon  others?  I  did  not  wish  to  compass  her 
death  by  nay  own  hand.  I  cared  not  to  see 
her  perieh  by  the  machinations  of  those  whose 
duty  it  W88  to  cherish  her;  and  of  herself, 
what  bad  she  to  do  with  life,  an  outcast  from 
her  infancy,  an  outcast  still.  No,  I  stood  be- 
neath tbe  shadow  of  a  ruined  warehouse,  while 
ehe,  *ith  a  gesture  of  seeming  frenzy,  pressed 
onward  to  the  black,  turgid  waters,  sweeping 
down  to  the  sea  with  sullen  and  silent  ra- 
pidity." 

Liper  Leper  groaned  and  clenched  his  fists, 
hia  bleck  eyes  eeemed  to  flash  with  fire,  and 
his  wbite  teeth,  though  cloeely  set  together, 
were  plainly  visible  between  his  lips. 

There  was  danger  in  his  aspect,  danger  to 
her  who  spoke  of  the  life  of  the  poor  hunted 
creature,  tiie  particulars  of  waoee  wretched 
history  no  one  knew  better  than  himself,  trem- 
bliog  upon  the  verge  of  destruction,  with 
such  cold  heartlessnees. 

"  And  you  jet  stood  still,  Hagar  ?"  he  said, 
in  a  low,  lioareo  tone. 

44 1  stood  motionless  as  she  advanced  along 
a  stone  bank  or  wharf,  to  the  very  brink,  where 
tbe  water,  deep  and  bedded  with  ocze  and 
slime,  lay  beneath,  prepared  to  receive  her 
wiibiu  ita  murky  bosom.  She  seemed  to  gaze 
distr? etedly  at  it  for  an  instant,  and  then  ehe 
turned  her  face  to  the  sky,  as  if  to  look  her 
lastupcn  it,  and  then—" 


"Yon  dashed  forward  and  seized  her?* 
again  interposed  Leper,  wild/y;  "you  did — 
you  did,  fl  igar — if  any  one  were  to  say  to  me 
that  you  d,d  not,  I  would  bury  n.y  knife  to 
the  helt  in  his  heart!" 

"  I  did  not  I"  exclaimed  Hagar,  emphati- 
cally. 

Liper  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  \ritfe 
the  growl  of  a  tiger. 

"  There  was  no  need,  indeed,  for  my  inter- 
feience,"  she  added,  quickly^  although  ehe  did 
not  notice  the  sudden  move'ment  of  his  hand. 
"  No  sooner  had  she  turned  her  eyes  to  Hea- 
ven than  she  6ee"med  to  cower  and  to  sbriak 
down  aim ot*t  in  a  heap.  She  then  covered  her 
f\ce  with  her  hand?,  and  springing  up  again,  * 
she  fled  awa-y  in  the  same  direction  as  that  in 
which  she  came. 

••  I  followed  her  etill ;  s^e  wandered  no,  she 
knew  not  where — nor  did  I,  un'il  again  we 
leached  t!je  river,  where  it  was  crossed  by  a 
masnve  biicge,  over  which  streamed  icces- 
santJy  people  and  vehicles.  A  species  of  in- 
stinct seenoed  to  guide  her  footsteps,  until  she  ' 
entered  upon  the  same  locality  as  that  to  which 
I  and  you  bore  her  a  sleeping  child." 

"  Bermondsey  !"  ejaculated  Li  per,  drawing 
a  deep  breath,  the  nrst  he  had  inspired  for 
some  moments. 

Large  globules  of  cold  perspiration  stood 
thicfcly  upon  his  forehead,  he  wiped  them  off 
with  the  hand  which  he  had  withdrawn  from 
his  vest. 

"  The  very  place,"  returned  Hagar.  "  I  do 
not  think,  however,  that  the  recognized  it,"  • 
she  added,  reflectively,  "her  movements  ap- 
peared to  be  made  so  entirely  without  a  pur- 
pcse  ;  but  strangely  enough,  as  weary  and  ex- 
hausted— I  waa  no  lees  faint  and  fatigued — 
she  moved  sk>wly  onward  in  her  cheerless  pil- 
grimage, the  strong  light  of  a  lamp  fell  upon 
the  face  and  form  of  a  bowed  old  man,  walk- 
ing with  the  aid  of  a  stick.  Impulsively  she 
hurried  up  to  him,  and  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  whispered  some  words  in  hia 
ear." 

"  I  am  the  Wanderer,"  muttered  Liper  Lep- 
er, under  his  breath. 

"  He  turned  quickly  to  her.  I  recognized 
in  his  face  that  of  Daddy  Windy.  His  ex- 
travagance on  discovering  who  it  was  that  ad- 
dressed him  knew  no  bounds.  She  spoke  again 
to  him,  and  he  in-tanUy  conducted  her  to  a 
house  in  which  he  dwells.  I  saw  her  enter  it 
with  Mm.  I  marked  it  down." 

She  drew  forth  a  pocket-book,  and  taking 
from  it  a  slip  of  paper,  said  : 

"  This  is  the  address." 

"  She  i9  still  there?"  obseeved  Liper,  inter- 
rogatively. 

"She  is !"  returned  Hagar.  "  I  visited  the 
spot  this  morning.  The  Daddy  has  obtained  ' 
employment  for  her  in  flower-makirg;  the 
pay  is  ecanty,  and  the  hours  of  labor  long 
enough  to  quickly  wear  out  body  and  souL 
She  believes,  however,  that  she  purchases 
obscurity,  and  a  quick  path  to  the  grave,  by 
this  couree  of  proceeding*  And  no  doubt  ehV 


OR,  THE  PATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


147 


Tronic!,  if  she  were  permitted  to  continue  such 
a  career.  She  does  not  ape^k  while  ebe  lt- 
bore,  and  ehe  weeps  the  eight  through,  instead 
of  sleepicg.  The  D*ddy  is  during  the  day 
incessattiy  engaged  m  raking  up  tvery  inci- 
dent connected  with  her  early  life  ;  and  should 
he  hit  upon  the  right  track,  he  would,  in  a 
spirit  of  avarice,  take  the  sdog  out  of  my 
scheme  of  revenge.  She  cannot,  therefore, 
be  permitted  by  mo  to  remain  where  she  is. 
Yet,  by  ftratagem  only,  can  Bhe  be  drawn  from 
her  seclusion,  and  1  have  a  plan  to  entice  her 
away,  which  I  know  will  not  fail." 

Li  per  folded  his  arm?,  and  listened  to  what 
followed  with  an  air  of  esger  i-merest. 

"Ifcid  this.  Jler  desire  to  look  upon  her 
mother — perhaps  to  speak  to  her — I  know  to 
be  intense,"  pursued  Hagar. 

"  1  know  that  to  be  true,"  observed  Liper. 

"  It  is  my  intention  that  ehe  shall  have  an 
interview,"  rejoiced  IN  gar,  qi?ick)y.  "  I  will 
confront  the  mother  ard  tbe  child.  I  will  slow 
to  the  proiid  Mnrcbioueeu  her  unrecogtizeo 
daughter.  Jwill  mate  her  see  and  feel  what  a 
terrible  spectre  she  has  conetaiitJy  haunting 
aiid  crossing  her  path.  1  will  recall  to  her 
memory  a  certain  conversation  which  we  held 
at  Raby  Hall,  and  then — " 

"  What?"  inquired  Liper,  as  she  paused. 

"I  will  le&vo  the  Maicbienees,  with  a  sim- 
ple suggestion,  to  dispose  of  her  daughter  as 
she  may  think  best,"  she  answered,  with  a 
sneer. 

Liper  started,  but  he  made  no  remark. 

"Tbe service  which  I  shall  require  of  you, 
L5per,"  she  proceeded,  "will  be  simply  to 
seek  her,  and  speak  with  her  alone.  You  will 
tell  her  that  you  can  conduct  her  to  a  spot 
•where  the  mother  who  bore  her,  who  has  seen 
her,  without  acknowledging  her,  whom  she 
has  seen  without  knowing  her,  will  be  unat- 
tended, awaiting  her  coming.  She  will  uot 
fail  to  consent.  You  will  make  tbe  appoint- 
ment for  tJbe  third  uigbt  from  ibis,  after 
nightfall.  Meet  her  where  you 'will,  aLd  then 
coiiduet  her  to  the  private  door  in  the  garden 
of  Westchester  House,  tbe  situation  of  which 
you  kuow.  I  will  ba  there  awaiting  you." 

She  paused.  Liper  Leper  remained  silent 
for  a  brief  space,  ad  if  in  deep  thought. 

Then  be  said : 

44  You  speak  of  the  White  Rose  as  though 
she  were  the  daughter  of  the  Marchioness  of 
Westohester.  Is  she  PO  ?" 

"  She-is  1"  replied  Eh^er. 

"  But  ia  there  acy  existing  evidence  to  prove 
this  beyond  a  question?'1  he  inquired,  regard- 
ing her  earner  «ly. 

**  Circumstantinl  evidence  in  abundance," 
she  answered  ;  "  but  the  only  positive  evi 
dence  wbich  cotild  have  established  the  fact 
was  centred  in  the  person  of  Fanny  Soelley, 
the  gitl  who  was  murdered,  and  whoee 
body  was  flung  into  the  Beachborough 
brook." 

*'  UnJees  the  Marchioness  admits  the  fact,  it 
cannot  be  proved  P  suggested  Liper,  reflect- 
ively, 


"  It  cannot,"  she  answered.  "  People  may, 
and  they  would  believe,  if  they  saw  them  to- 
gether, that  they  are  mother  and  daughter,  but 
BO  long  AS  the  Marchioness  keeps  her  secret,  no 
earthly  power  can  prove  her  sin." 

Liper  mused  for  a  moment,  and  then,  as- 
suming a  cold  tone,  and  with  a  sullen  gloom 
upon  his  features,  he  said: 

"Is  tbe  whole  of  the  service  of  which  yon 
have  spoken  comprehended  in  the  request 
that  I  shall  see  the  White  Rose  and  persuade 
her  to  visit  her  mother?" 

"  It  ie,"  she  rejoiced,  and  added,  sarcastical- 
ly ;  "  perhaps  you  will  find  the  task  uapleas- 
il;g  to  you." 

"  No,"  fce  replied,  shortly. 

"Why  did  jou  put  your  question  to  me?" 
she  interrogated,  with  a  quick,  sharp  glance  at 
his  face. 

*•  Because  it  is  the  last  service  I  can  execute 
for  jou,"  be  answered,  with  a  firm  voice. 

"'Tbe  last!"  she  echoed,  with  unqualified 
am1  zenoeiit. 

"I  will  do  your  bidding,"  he  responded; 
"  but  ween  tbe  task  has  been  performed  we 
must  part,  and  forever." 

Sbe  looked  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  hear  him 
aright.  Soe  glanced  up  at  the  heavens,  where 
a  single  star  bad  shone  brightly  ;  it  was  yet 
alone  acd  resplendent. 

Sbe  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  she  was  suffering 
a  spasm  -of  unutterable  agony,  and  then,  as  a 
deep  sigh  e°oaped  her  lips,  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone:  •' Explain!'' 

"  It  is  done  in  a  few  words,"  he  answered ; 
"  I  overboard  all  tbat  passed  between  you  and 
the  proud  Earl  of  Bruckleigh  in  the  gardens 
ot  Westchester  Houee." 

She  recoiled  a  few  paces  from  him,  and  she 
averted  her  head. 

*•  I  have  loved  you  long,  Hagar,  with  a  fond 
and  faithful  devotion,"  he  said,  in  tones  of 
deep  feeling.  "1  loved  you  when  but  a  boy, 
and  you  were  rapidly  changing  f;om  girlhood 
to  womanhood.  I  could  not  then  have  ex- 
pected you  to  regard  even  seriously  a  boy's 
love.  Yet,  Hagar,  a  boy's  love  haetiiis  merit, 
it  is  sincere,  and  it  ia  pure,  and  it  has  far  less 
selfishness  and  more  zeal  than  the  worship  of 
a  devotee.  My  love  for  you  was  euffieient  to 
induce  me  to  abandon  home,  family,  friends, 
everything — to  enroll  myself  a  member  of 
your  tribe,  to  follow  you  like  a  dog,  to  wor- 
ship you,  and  to  work  for  you  like  a  ehve.  I" 
did  this  without  the  hope  ol  ever  finding  my 
Jove  reciprocated.  1  believed  that  you  had 
loved-  I  assumed  that  your  love  had  teen  un- 
icquited — I  knew  tbat  you  had  suffered.  You 
kept  your  secrer,  so  well  tbat  I  coutd  never  even 
guess  it.  iiut  I  bad  forgotten  that  you  were 
a  woman,  and  1  converted  you  into  an  ideal. 
1  should  have  continued  to  love,  to  follow,  and 
to  serve  a  jilted,  Buffeting,  and  virtuou*  wom- 
an, but  mine  is  not  a  nature  to  prize  a  casket 
from  wmch  tbe  most  valuable  jewel  has  been 
taken — and  without  resistance." 

Hagar  groaned  and  ouried  her  face  in  her 
hands'.  She  bowed  her  head  beneath  a 


HAGAE  LOT ; 


paroxysm  of  bitter  anguish,  and  seemed  as 
though  she  would  cower  and  sink  to  the 
ground. 

Suddenly,  with  a  passionate  cry,  she  tore 
her  hands  from  before  her  eyes,  and  with  an 
aspect  of  despairing  rage,  she  tuined  to  make 
scone  vehement  exclamation  to  Liper,  but  he 
was  no  linger  before  her. 

Turning  her  eyes  to  the  distance  beyond, 
she  saw  a  misty  shadow,  fleeing  as  if  pursued 
by  some  avenging  spirit.  She  watched  him 
until  he  disappeared,  and  then  she  drew  her 
cloak  round  her  and  partly  covered  her  face 
with  one  of  i  s  folds. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,"  she  muttered,  "He 
will  keep  his  promise.  Of  all  the  world,  I 
hare  faith  alone  in  him,  and  we  will  not  part 
farever." 

She  eeaeed,and  went  elowlyon  her  way  alone. 
liper,  however,  continued  bis  career,  and 
did  not  stop  until  he  had  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  address  which  Ilagar  had  giv- 
en him. 

Se  then  proceeded  cautiously  until  he 
Tasehed  a  narrow  street,  the  centre  of  a  com- 
plete maze  of  rows  of  small  houses.  It  re* 
i?  sired  a  clue  to  discover  the  street  in  which, 
Eecordicg  to  Hagar,  Floret  lay  concealed,  and 
ML  elaborate  plan  to  be  carefully  studied  to 
find  the  way  out  into  a  main  thoroughfare 
«gain. 

He  who  had  trained  himself  to  make  such 
&acx>veries,  and  wichcut  failure,  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  picking  out  the  house  to  which  he 
T?a»  destined,  and  an  ordinary  person  on  first 
feeing  it  would  have  supposed  it  to  be  unten- 
wxted.  There  were  no  lights  in  the  windows, 
aor  were  there  any  blinds  to  them  ;  the  panes 
T?ere  dust  stained,  and  patched  with  old  pieces 
«f  brown  paper  where  they  had  been  broken, 
"while  the  frames  were  black  with  age,  and 
looked  as  if  a  touch  would  crumble  them  to 


Liper  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 
observed  that  there  were  a  few  persons  about, 
roiue  looking  out  of  windows,  others  saunter* 
ing  slowly  up  and  down,  snicking  their  pipes, 
and  some  careful  mothers  hunting  up  their 
•tray  blessings,  in  order  that  they  might  slap 
them  for  being  oui  late,  and  hurry  them  as 
Jfa&t,  ay,  faster  thta  their  little  legs  could  be 
propelled  by  nature  to  bed,  supper  less. 

He  sauntered  about  slowly,  too,  but  not  in 
gnch  a  marner  68  to  excite  suspicion  in  the 
minds  of  those  to  whom  he  was  a  stranger. 

As  h<3  gained  the  end  of  the  street  he  en- 
countered a  you  eg  member  of  the  gipsy  tribe, 
whom  he  had  met  during  one  of  his  country 
peregrinations,  and  whose  quick  eye  reeog- 
fuxed  him  as  c/;aickly  as  he  knaw  him. 

A  few  questions  skilfully  put  enabled  him 
to  learn  that  Dad^y  Windy  paseed  his  eve- 
nings from  niae  to  eleven,  at  a  room  in  a  pub- 
lic-house within  the  immediate  neighborhood, 
hearing  3h*  suggestive  sign  of  "  The  Case  is 
Altered". 

H??e  fa  was  his  custom  to  regale  himself 
•with  sundry  glasses  of  odoriferous  "  Jamaiker", 


feebly  diluted  with  warm  water,  and  doctored 
with  a  lump  or  two  cf  very  cheap  loaf-sugar 
of  a  d*rk  whitey-brown.  Since  he  had  lost 
his  "  Didnntr",  he  confessed  to  a  weakness  for 
tbe  beverage,  wbich  he  said,  without  intending 
to  play  upon  tbe  word,  had  '•  slewed  her".  He 
give  way  also  to  a  weakness  for  the  "  fragrant 
weed",  consumed  through  the  bowl  and  etem 
of  a  stinking,  old,  black,  clay  pipe,  darker 
than  ebony,  and  which,  therefore,  WM,  in  the 
smoker's  parlance,  "  colored  beautifully". 

From  nice  to  eleven  he  abandoned  the  care* 
of  the  world,  surrendered  himself  to  his  mix- 
ture, and  to  the  charms  of  a  conversation 
which  required  a  peculiar  education  to  recip- 
rocate. 

Liper  desired  to  learn  no  more  ;  and  with- 
standing a  pressing  invitation  '•  to  stand  a 
pint",  he  bade  his  acquaintance  farewell. 

Seeming  to  quit  the  neighborhood,  he  loi-\ 
tered  about  the  streets  until  he  could  venture 
to  return  to  that  in  which  Daddy  Windy 
dwelt ;  and  as  he  reached  the  corner  of  the 
street  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  old  man 
drawing  the  door  cf  the  houee  close  after  him. 

He  watched  him  attentively,  and  asw  him 
give  a  cat-like  dart  to  the  opposite  eide  of  the 
wayf  then  rhuffla  down  the  pavement,  until  he 
turned  the  corner  and  disappeared.  Not  quite 
satisfied  that  he  had  heard  the  tnitb,  he  fol- 
lowed the  old  man  until  he  perceived  him  en- 
ter a  low  public-houee,  and  did  not  content 
himself  until,  through  a  portion  of  tbe  half- 
of  ened  door  of  the  room  in  which  me  Daddy 
ei  joved  his  nigh'ly  carouse,  he  sair  tbe  old 
man  settled  firmly  upon  a  chair,  filJicg  his 
pipe,  and  preparing  to  give  way  to  his  feelings 
lor  a  couple  of  hours. 

He  then  returned  to  the  house  in  whJbh  he 
understood  Floret  to  be  concealed,  and  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  taek  of  effecting  an  en- 
trance without  beiug  observed. 

He  tried  a  master-key  upon  the  lock,  and 
almost  instantly  opened  the  door  and  passed 
into  a  narrow  passage. 

He  sjxst  the  door  behind  him,  and  was  ab- 
ruptly plunged  into  pitchy  darkneas.  He 
groped  Us  way  cautiously,  aad  quickly  found 
a  flight  of  stairs. 

Before,  however,  he  ascended  them,  be  as- 
sured himself  that  there  was  no  one  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  house.  He  then  began  t 
ascend,  and  at  the  top  of  the  first  and  oar  / 
flight  of  stairs,  be  saw  the  feeble  raysof  ar  ri- 
de ehinicg  through  the  crevices  and  orar k  of 
the  door  of  a  back  room. 

He  turned  the  handle  of  the  lock,  which  he 
quickly  found,  without  a  sound,  and  opening 
tbe  door,  peered  in. 

He  saw  a  table  covered  with  a  heap  of  artifi- 
cial flowers  of  tbe  brightest  crimson,  scarlet, 
yellow,  blue,  green,  and  pur^  le  hues. 

By  the  table,  seated,  bending  ever  a  wrea+h, 
which  she  was  making  rapidly,  with  exquisite 
taete,  was  a  young,  delicately-formed,  t, agile- 
looking  girl.  She  seemed  to  be  closely  occu- 
pied, and  deeply  intent  upon  her  work. 

But  preeenily  she  turned  her  face,  absolute- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOH  GIRL. 


149 


ly  colorless,  thin,  and  very,  very  wan,  toward 
the  door.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  the 
expression  upon  her  countenance  was  a  very 
sorrowful  ote. 

Liper  wt'ered  an  exclamation  of  sharp  pain, 
and  Bt«pp«d  iorward,  ejaculating,  in  a  :ofc  and 
plaintive  voice : 

»«  Whit«  Rose !    O,  my  poor  White  Rose !" 

She  turi;«d  her  startled  eyes  upon  hia  face, 

she  roan  up,  and   seizing  his  extended  hand, 

she  laid  her  face  upon  his  shoulder,  and  sobbed 

bitterly. 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 
"  0  !  come  to  my  bosom,  my  own  stricken  dear, 
Tfcougn  tbe  herd  hath  fl;d  from  thee,  thy  home  is 

8'  ill  here; 

O,  htra  is  tha  smile  that  no  clourl  can  o'ercast, 
And  the  heart  and  the  home  still  thine  own  to  the 
lait!"  —MOORE. 

It  baa  been  most  truly  said,  that  kindness 
begets  kindness.  A  proof,  in  support  of  the 
truth  of  this  aphorism,  might  have  been  ad- 
duced from  the  feehsgs  with  which  Floret  re- 
garded Liper  Leper. 

His  unwearying  kindness  to  her,  his  gentle 
tenelern^Ba  of  manner  at  all  times  when  ad- 
dressing her,  the  ready  spirit  wbich  he  dis- 
played at  any  moment  to  assist  or  to  serve  her, 
could  net  fail  to  have  their  nutuml  effect  upon 
a  disposition  like  hers.  HIS  never-varying 
attention  and  deference  to  her  wishes,  when 
he  was  able  to  comply  with  them,  raised  with- 
in her  breast  an  attichment  for  him,  wbich 
might  properly  be  called  sisterly  tffection. 

There  was  no  touch  of  what  ia  understood 
by  the  word  love,  fondness,  or  passion,  in  tMs 
feeling  for  him ;  he  had  been  so  truly  her 
friend,  that  she  regarded  him  as  such  in  the 
purest  eenee  cf  the  word.  Fiiend  and  coun- 
selor ;  one  who  had  served  her  honestly  acd 
ably,  and  had  cirected  her  wisely— the  only 
one"  in  all  the  world  to  whom  she  could  turn 
now  for  consolation  and  guidance. 

JHo  wonder  that  she  rose  up  to  greet  him  BO 
warmly.  No  wonder  that,  overcome  by  her 
emotions,  she  wept  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  jtrazed  at  her  face  a  minute  with  tender 
compassion,  and  then,  gently  restoring  her  to 
her  feat,  he  bent  over  her  and  whispered  : 

"D:y  your  tears,  Wnite  R^eo,  I  bricg  you 
tidings  which  will  lift  a  heavy  burden  of  pain 
and  humiliation  from  your  heart." 

"  I  knew  that  I  ehoul-l  see  you,  Liper,"  she 
,  said,  striving  to  keep  down  her  tears.  "  I  was 
.,  sure  that  you  would  not  fail  me  in  my  darkest 
,"  hour,  acd  though  jou  have  been  long  in  com- 
ing, jou  have  come  at  last.'"' 

"  If  my  heart  were  lees  ea^,  White  Rose,"  he 
said,  in  a  soft  tone,  "  I  should  smile  at  your 
belitf  in  my  preternatural  powers.  You  have 
alwajBtx.jecLtd  eetmiDg  impossibilities  at  my 
hands,  in  the  full  f*uh  that  I  could  euraaount 
them  at  w?i),  end  I  have  been  BO  fortunate  as 
xnod'ly  to  conquer  them.  When  I  have  hai 
the  power  to  serve  you,  I  have  used  it ;  while 
I  havrt  the  power  to  continue  to  do  so,  I  will 
exert  it ;  therefore  I  am  here," 

'•  O  Liper!  1  can,  from  my  childhood,  bear 


testimony  to  your  constant  endeavor  to  light- 
en the  load  of  affliction  that  I  have  borne,  and 
I  have  fair.h  in  your  readiness  to  do  so  still, 
although  I  have  lost  all  hope  forever.  I  have 
been  looking  for  you — ay,  L'per,  yearning  to 
see  y^u.  You  were  my  brother  when  I  had 
no  brother,  and  you  will  be  so  sail." 

"  So  long  aa  you  need  me,  White  Rose- 
yea,"  he  returned. 

«•  I  need  your  counsel  greatly,"  ehe  said, 
with  much  earnestness ;  4«  and  you  will  give  ifc 
me  with  impartiality  and  truthfulness,  although 
you  may  believe  that  it  is  against  my  own  in- 
clinations, will  you  not?  Ah!  I  kaosr  you 
will,  Liper." 

"White  Rose,"  he  said,  looking  at  hep 
gravely  and  earnestly,  "you  were  wont  to 
think  and  act  for  yourself;  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing must  have  made  an  inroad,  indeed,  in  your 
energy,  when  it  impels  you  to  speak  to  me  ia 
such  a  fashion  as  this." 

"  Yoa  know  not  what  has  occurred  to  me, 
Liper,"  she  said,  slowly  turning  her  head  away 
from  him. 

"I  know  much,"  he  answered.  "I  was 
anxious  to  know  what  Hagar  Lot  would  have 
to  communicate  to  you  when  you  were  at  the 
Gipsies'  Home,  and  claimed  your  right  to  be 
free  of  all  the  race  who  pretended  to  a  title  to 
wield  a  power  over  you,  which  none  of  them 
possessed,  and  I,  therefore,  concealed^  myeelf 
where  I  could  overhear  all  that  she  said.  My 
motive  was  a  strong  one ;  I  wil)  give  .it  to  you 
presently.  I,  consequently,  know  her  version 
of  your  history,  and,  therefore,  one  great  cause 
for  your  unhappiness." 

"One  cause,"  she  repeated,  almost  reproaoh- 
fully;  "  was  it  not  enough .?" 

u  If  it  were  true,  certainly,"  he  rejoined ; 
"  but  it  is  not  true,"  he  added,  emphatically. 

"I  have  heard  further  statemtnts  relative 
to  my  wretched  history,"  she  responded,  with 
a  deep  fcigh,  "  which  change  some  of  the  in- 
cidents and  the  characters,  but  tiie  bitter  facta 
remain,  Liper.  H.«gar,  misnamed  my — my—- 
the word  chokes  rue,  Liper,  I  am  the  child 
of  her  for  whom  I  uaed  to  pray  for  as  poor 
Godmamma  Shelley." 

She  turned  away  and  covered  her  eyea  with 
her  hands,  while  her  bosom  heaved  convuls- 
ively. 

"Who  told  you  this?"  he  asked, 'almcs  ; 
fiercely. 

"  One  who,  at  least,  should  be  a  competent 
authority,"  ehe  returned,  in  a  faint  tone. 

"  It  was  a  lie,  White  Rose— a  base,  a  vicked 
lie,  whoe .  er  told  it,"  he  exclaimed,  with  eome 
excitement.  "  What  more  competent  author- 
ity can  there  exist  upon  this  point  than  my- 
self, and  I  say  it  13  aa  iniquificua  lie !" 

"  You  an  authority,  Liper?"  she  said,  with 
surprise. 

"  Why  not?"  lie  returned.  "  Reflect— nay, 
I  will  briefly  prove  to  you  what  an  authority 
I  am.  I  was  concealed  near  to  Hager  Lot 
when  the  Marchioness  of  We?tchester  instruct- 
ed her  to  steal  you  from  Beachborough.  I 
stole  you  sleeping  from  jour  bed.  I  was  with 


150 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


Hagar  Lot  when  the  Marchioness  saw  you  in 
the  wood,  and,  overcome  by  her  feelings, 
fainted.  Would  she  have  fainted,  think  you, 
if  you  had  been  the  child  oi  Fanny  Shelley  ?" 

Floret  listened  to  him  now  with  breathless 
eagerness. 

"  White  Rose,  after  that  night  we  were  much 
together,  and  I  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing  of 
the  Marchioness  of  Weaichester  ;  but  there 
came  a  time  when  we  were  parted.  You 
were  recovered  by  Susan  Atten  at  Ascot  Races. 
I  etill  continued  a  slave  to  H&gar  Lot.  I 
accompanied  her  to  Raby  HalJ,  in  Wiltshire  ; 
for  there  she  had  succes  ive  interviews  wiih 
the  Marchionees  ot  Westchester,  upon  what 
subjects  I  had  to  employ  the  best  means  I 
could  to  learn.  Hagar  did  not  reveal  a  word 
to  me,  but  I  gathered  sufficient  to  guess  all. 
Now,  mark  this  I  H*gar  instructed  me  to  fol- 
low the  Marchionees,  who  was  about  to  under- 
take a  secret  journey,  and  she  bade  me  not 
only  ascertain  whither  she  went,  but  to  whom 
she  epoke,  and,  if  possible,  the  subject  of  any 
conversa'ion  that  might  take  place.  I  follow- 
ed the  Marchioness,  not  without  some  hazard, 
and  much  difficulty  and  perseverance.  She 
went  to  Brighton,  and  stayed  at  a  great  hotel 
tbere.  I  watched  the  house  while  she  was 
within  it.  She  entered  a  cutler's  shop  and 
purchased  a  knife.  Sae  hired  a  carriage,  and 
proceeded  along  a  road  which  ran  by  the  side 
of  the  sea.  The  carriage  stopped  near  to  a 
church.  She  entered  that  church.  I  flitted 
in  after  her,  and  concealed  myt  elf.  I  heard 
her  ask  for  a  book,  which  was  the  register  of 
marriages  which  had  taken  place  in  that 
church.  It  was  given  to  her.  She  made  an 
excuse  to  get  rid  of  the  clerk  who  attended 
upon  her ;  and  the  instant  he  was  gone,  she 
bowed  down  over  the  book.  I  listened  attent- 
ively, and  I  heard  the  sharp  run  of  a  knife 
over  the  paper.  When  she  rose  up,  she  hastily 
crushed  a  sheet  of  paper  in  her  hand,  and  then 
hid  it  away.  She  returned  to  Raby  Hall,  and 
concealed  it  in  a  cabinet. 

"  White  Rose,  behold  it !" 

He  drew  from  his  coat,  as  he  spoke,  a  folded 
sheet  of  paper,  and  opened  it. 

He  spread  it  out  before  her,  and  pointed  to 

"  Read  it  carefully,"  he  resumed.  "  You  see 
this  is  the  register  of  a  marriage  between  Con- 
atance  Neville— the  name  Plantagenet  is  omit- 
ted, but  that  is  of  no  consequence,  Neville  is 
one  of  her  father's  names — and  of  Lennox  Ber- 
tram, who  was  then  Viscount  Bertram,  and 
who  is  now  Earl  of  Brackleigh.  This  is  the 
ORIGINAL  CEKTIFICAT«!  Preserve  it  as  you 
would  your  life,  for  it  proclaims  your  legiti- 
macy, as  it  records  the  marriage  of  the  pair  of 
Whom  Hagar  spoke  so  falsely." 

Floret  read  t'  e  certificate  a  dozen  times 
with  intense  eagerness,  and  then  ebe  looked 
up  atLiper  with,  an  utterly  mystified  and  be- 
wildered aspect.  She  placed  her  finger  upon 
the  name  of  Bertram. 

"It  was  he  who  told  me  that  I  was  the 


daughter  of  Fanny  Shelley,"  she  exclaimed,  in 
an  undertone. 

The  brows  of  Li  per  lowered.  He  looked 
fixedly  at  ber. 

•'  W  hen  did  he  tell  you  this,  and  under  what 
circumstances?"  he  inquired. 

Sae  replied  by  repealing  to  nim  every  in- 
cident that  took  place  while  she  wua  etajing 
at  Brackleigh  Mansion. 

When  sha  *iad  ceased,  he,  after  musing  for 
a  few  taiautes,  said — 

"  lie  has  a  weighty  motive  for  not  acknowl- 
edging you." 

41  What  can  it  be  ?"  she  asked  with  distress. 

"  Yon  w-U  observe,"  he  replied,  tl  that  this 
certificate  is  dated  tn  the  year  18o2  ;  the  Earl 
of  Bracklcigb.  married  his  pretent  wife  in 
1834,  and  the  Marchioness  the  Marquis  of 
Weatchester  about  the  samo  time,  or  shortly 
after.  The  first  marriage  is  legal ;  the  second 
is  not.  If  the  secret  were  to  be  publicly  made 
known,  the  Earl  would  be  made  to  Buffer  the 
penalty  of  the  law  ;  which,  in  bis  case,  would 
be  severe.  Therefore,  it'  ha  knew  you  to  be 
his  daughter,  it  would  be  to  his  interest  to  con- 
ceal it.  The  Marchioness  ttands  in  the  eame 
position." 

Floret  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Fate  wearies  not  of  persecuting  me,"  ehe 
exclaimed. 

L-per  raised  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"  Listen  to  me,  White  Kose,"  he  said  quiet- 
ly and  firmly.  "  Let  us  probe  the  situation  to 
the  very  eeat  of  the  cai.ker.  When  we  are 
acquainted  with  the  worst,  we  shall  know  bet- 
ter how  to  grapple  with  the  position.  The 
possession  of  that  register  proves,  beyond  the 
possibility  of  dispute,  that  Constance  Plan- 
tagf  net  was  married  to  Lennox  Bertram,  but 
it  affords  no  proof  that  they  were  your  parents. 
You  resemble  the  Marchioness  of  Westeheat- 
er  to  an  extraordinary  degree,  and  there  ia  no 
moral  doubt  but  that  you  are  her  daughter, 
yet  there  ia  no  legal  proof  of  it.  The  secret 
of  your  birth  was  kept  by  the  Marchioness 
and  Fanny  Shelley  ;  the  latter  is  dead ;  the 
Marchionees  alone  can  furnish  the  proof  you 
require.  Will  she  make  the  admission,  think 
you?" 

Floret  hung  down  her  head. 

"  It  must  be  tried,"  said  Liper.  "  She  is  a 
woman,  with  a  woman's  heart.  Conventional- 
ism has  hardened  it  to  some  extent,  but  not  so 
much  as  to  drown  the  voice  of  nature.  Dare 
you  face  her  ?  Remember  how  much  of  your 
future  happiness  depends  upon  her  admission 
to  you  that  you  are  her  child  I  What  matters 
tbe  circumstances  which  led  her  to  the  iearlul 
step  she  has  taken  ?  They  may  be  unfortu- 
nate, perhaps  wicked,  but  you  will  prove  to 
yourself  that  TOU  are  not  basely,  but  honor- 
ably and  nobly  born ;  and  *i!l  not  that 
knowledge  sustain  you,  and  enable  you  to  face 
End  bear  any  cr  all  other  evils  ?'' 

Fioietdrew  lureelf  up  erect,  and  with  a 
proud,  firm  bearing,  which  brought  a  finish,  of 
saueiiiction  to  Liper's  cheek,  ehe  euid  : 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


151 


•'  I  feel  that  I  am  not  base-born,  that  I  have 
•within  njy  veins  the  blood  wf  the  high  born 
and  the  noble,  and  terrible  as  may  be  fch«  taek 
of  lacing  u<sr  wuo  is,  but  who  U*»  not  acted  to 
Hie  as,  u>y  mother,  it  shall  not  daunt  me. 
Armed  witn  cuts  document,  there  is  nothiug 
that  I  snail  (ear,  no  one  */uom  I  will  cot  face, 
nothing  that  I  wiil  not  dare  to  be  able  to 
kneel  and  otter  tip  my  thanks  to  Heaven,  that 
if  it  has  seen  fib  to  cliasten,  affltct,  and  try  me 
«ore]y,  even  to  make  me  an  outcast,  it  has  not 
doomed  me  to  Da  nameless." 

"  fc>  ome  or  your  old  s  piri1;  epoke  there,  spring- 
flower,"  txclaimed  Liper,  eyeing  ber  witn 
quiet  admiration.  "You  will  hare  occasion 
for  ail  ol  it  that  you  can  rouse  into  action,  for 
there  is  much  yet  to  be  done-  I  will  conduct 
you  to  a  spot  where  you  shall  meet  the  Mar- 
chioness oi  Westchester  face  to  face,  where 
she  cannot  rush  from  you  without  uttering  a 
word,  and  where  she  must  listen  to  yovi.  I 
leave  to  you  the  task  of  winning  or  wringing 
from  her  an  acknowledgment  of  you;  but  I  shall 
be  prepared  to  learn  that  while  with  her  eyes, 
her  manner,  her  emotion,  she  confesses  you  to 
be  her  child — ay,  her  only  child— she,  with 
her  tongue,  will  refuse  to  concede  it.  In  that 
event  it  will  lead  you  to  adopt  another  less 
satisfactory  course,  but  one  which  must  result 
in  success.  Circumstantial  evidence,  where 
the  chain  is  cirect,  though  a  link  be  deficient, 
will  certainly  be  received  as  conclusive  as  if 
the  link  were  not  lost  at  all." 

He  paused  for  an  instant  only,  as  if  to  con- 
centrate his  energies  on  what  he  had  further 
to  communicate  to  her.  Taking  a  deep  in- 
spiration, he  resumed  : 

tk  There  is  also  another  contingency  against 
which  we  must  provide.  I  feel  a  deep  reluc- 
tance to  mention  it  to  you,  but  you  have  more 
than  one  enemy,  White  Rose,  thoagh  you 
have  given  occasion  to  no  living  creature  to 
breathe  a  wish  to  injure  you,  and  we  must  be 
prepared  against  all.  Much  as  you  have  seen 
of  gipsy  life,  and  of  the  people  of  various 
tribes,  there  are  many  eecrets  possessed  by 
them  which  are  wholly  unknown  to  you.  I, 
who  am  not  a  gipsy  born,  and  only  partly 
gipsy  bred,  have  become  master  of  most  of 
them,  through  a  never-dormant  spirit  of  in- 
quiry which  inhabits  my  breast.  One  of  the 
branches  of  secret  knowledge  which  gipsies 
possess  is  the  properties  and  effects  of  various 
vegetable  poisons.  Of  these  there  is  one, 
known  orly  to  them,  which  elays  its  victim 
and  leaves  behind  no  trace  of  its  deadly  pres- 
ence. It  is  known  among  us  by  the  came  of 
drei.  It  is  obtained  from  a  fungus  which  grows 
only  in  peculiar  epots  and  at  particular  sea 
eona  ;  it  must  only  be  gathered  when  it  is  at  a 
certain  stage,  and  it  requires  wondrous  care 
and  knowledge  in  the  manner  of  drying  and 
preparing  it.  When  reatfy  for  use,  it  resem- 
bles a  brown,  impalpable  duet.  A  pinch  ot  it 
dropped  into  a  liquid,  or  on  to  any  edible  sub- 
stance, even  an  apple  or  a  strawberry,  would 
be  swallowed  without  cetecaug  any  unpleas- 
antness of  taste,  and  it  would  be  lataL  The 


symptoms  which  first  appear  are,  an  irritation 
m  the  throat  and  a  tendency  to  cough.  The 
cough  iacreasea  rapidly,  followed  by  burning 
fever,  then  ensuos  the  bursting  of  a  blood  ves- 
sel, and  then  death.  None  of  the  symptoms  arc 
such  as  to  rouse  a  suspicion  even  in  the  mind 
of  the  medical  attendant  of  the  presence  of 
poison,  and  he  prescribes  the  ordinary  medi- 
cines in  vain.  The  patient  dioa  under  his 
hand,  however  skillful  his  treatment.  The 
reason  is  this :  as  soon  as  the  grains  cf  powder 
are  swallowed,  they  attach  themselves  to  the  • 
lining  of  the  throat,  chest,  and  lungs,  they 
instantly  germinate,  and  grow  with  enormous 
rapidity.  They  throw  out  long,  6ilk«n  fila- 
ments,  no  thicker  than  a  fine  hair,  and  these 
clog  every  attempt  at  breathing,  ffature  tries 
co  rid  herself  of  them  by  the  action  of  cough- 
ing, and  destroys  itself." 

He  paused. 

Floret  listened  to  him  with  a  species  of  af- 
frighted fascination,  and,  with  a  sickening 
sensation,  she  said  : 

"  But,  laper,  why  do  you  speak  of  this  poi- 
son to  me  ?"  \ 

"Because,  "White  Rose,"  he  ad^ed,  in  a 
marked  and  significant  tone,  '•  the  Marchion- 
ess of  Weatcbeeter  nas  some  of  this  poison  in 
her  possession." 

Sue  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  anl,  in  an 
offended  tone,  eaid : 

"  Liper,  you  do  not  thin\  of  whom  you  are 
speaking  Do  not  offer  such  horrible  sugges- 
tions to  me,  or  I  shall  not  like  you." 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  mournful  expres- 
sion. 

"  I  would  that  I  had  it  not  to  say,  White 
Rose,"  he  replied,  in  a  subdued  tone  ;  "  but  it 
is  better  that  I  should  incur  your  displeasure 
now,  by  warning  you,  than  lament,  when  too 
late,  that  I  had  not  risked  your  anger  and  told 
you  all.  Hagar  Lot  also  posseeees  some  of 
tbia  devilish  powder,  and  she  is  not  your 
friend." 

"  I  have  always  shrurk  from  that  strange 
woman  with  a  kind  of  instinctive  aversion,"  ( 
exclaimed  Floret,  with  a  elight  shudder. 

"You  may  continue  to  do  so,"  rejoined  Li- 
per, significantly,  "  but  do  not  let  her  know 
that  you  entert-in  such  a  fetling  against  her* 
She  is  subtle,  and,  I  fear,  lemorselees.  She  is 
very  dexterous,  too,  and  will  pause  at  nothing 
to  accomplish  her  ends.  It  she  determines 
upon  your  destruction,  nothing  will  save  you 
from  the  administration  of  the  poison  by  her. 
You  will  discover  thin  when  you  find  yourself 
attacked  by  a  sudden  dry  ness  in  the  throat. 
The  poison  will  then  have  begun  to  operate, 
and  no  medical  skill  will  avail  to  save  you."  * 

"  Is  there  notbing  existing  which  wjil  coun- 
teract its  baleful  effects  V  she  asked,  with  a 
terrified  look. 

'•  There  is,"  returned  Liper  ;  "  long  and  pa- 
tient search  and  experiments  have  enabled  me 
to  discover  an  antidote.  I  have  tried  it  upon 
myself,  after  swallowing  some  drei,  and  am  a»- 
Bured  of  its  perfect  efficacy." 


153 


HAGAR  LOT; 


He  produced  a  small  bottle  of  a  whitish 
green  liquid,  and  g-ave  it  to  her. 

"A  few  drops  of  that  in  a  glass  of  water, 
B wallowed  immediately  you  fe^l  that  the  fi;st 
symptom  of  the  poison  haa  developed  itself, 
will  destroy  tha  effect  of  the  venomous  fungus, 
and  eradicate  it  from  the  system.  Carry  it 
always  about  you.  It  will  prove  effectual 
even  when  the  poison  is  in  its  most  virulent 
stage." 

1  She  took  it  from  him  with  an  expression  of 
thankfulness,  and  concealed  it  in  the  bosom 
of  her  dress. 

•*  A  few  more  words  to  you,  "White  Rose,  and 
then  I  must  depart,"  he  said,  with  an  uncon- 
t  cealed  sadness  of  tone.  "I  must  have  your 
pronsise  to  meet  me,  wherever  you  please  to 
;  name,  on  the  tbird  evenicg  from  t  Lis,  that  I 
!  may  conduct,  you  to  the  presence  of  the  Mar- 
I  chionees  of  Weatchester.  Will  jou  give  it  to 
me  of  your  own  frf  e  inclining,  for  if  you  shriek 
from  t&e  crdeal,  you  shall  net — " 

"  I  do  not  shriak  from  it,  Liper,"  she  inter- 
i  posed,  quickly.  «« I  will  meet  you,  and  I  will 
see  her ;  death  from  her  hand  would  be  pref- 
|  eralle  to  life,  without  the  interchange  of  one 
(word  with  her— my  mother,  Liper,  whom, 
knowingly,  I  have  never  seen,  to  whom  I  have 
never  spoken." 

j     "  The  Daddy  leaves  this  house  at  nine  every 
night,  does  he  cot?"  he  aeked. 
I     "  He  does !"  returned  Floret. 

"  And  returns  at  eleven  ?"  he  continued. 

"I  believe  so!"  she  answered.  "I  have 
taken  little  heed  of  his  going  or  coming  since 
I  have  been  here." 

|  "  On  the  third  night  from  this,  I  will  be  at 
,  the  corner  of  the  street,  awaiting  you,  imme- 
diately after  the  Dadcy  is  away  from  this 
house,"  he  added. 

|  "I  will  join  you,  Liper,  if  I  live,"  she  re- 
turned. 

•     "And  you  must  never  return  to  this  equalid 
home  again,"  he  said,  firmly. 
j     She  turned  her  head  away. 

"  I  cid  not  expect  to  find  you  with  the  Dad- 
dy again,  Wiiite  Rose,"  he  eaid,  in  a  elighlly- 
reprovicg  tcne,  after  a  moment's  pause; 
. "  wherever  you  might  have  sought  an  a&ylum, 
I  did  not  believe  that  it  would  have  been  be- 
neath his  ro  f." 

I  tohe  turned  to  him  and  said,  rapidly  and  im- 
petuously: 

"  I  ires  taunted  with  my  birth.  I  was  told 
that  I  was  the  offspring  of  shame,  the  child  of 
'a  poor  village-girl,  wno  had  been  deceived 
and  abandoned.  I  regarded  mjteif  as  one  of 
.  the  meanest,  if  not  the  meanest,  of  God's  crea- 
tures upon  earth;  I  fled  from  the  taunt,  from 
the  brand  of  humiliation  and  ehame.  I  flea 
from  mytelf,  I  knew  not,  cared  not,  whither  : 
it  might  have  betn  to  death — in  my  then  frame 
of  micd  is  would  huve  been  my  Jbappieet  ha- 
ven. Nay,  I  was  upon  its  ver^e,  but  my  bet- 
ter a»?gel  held  me  back.  Sliii  I  fler4,  as  if  pur 
flued  by  biases  of  scorn,  by  hoo  B  of  insult,  b? 
pointing  fiugers,  by  mockiag  ciiea  .and  §,ibc3, 
l>y  woida  cf  bitter  reproacn.  0  Lipsr!  you 


cannot  know  what  horrors  I  endured  during 
that  terrible  flight.  I  knew  not  where  I  was ; 
at  a  moment  that  I  felt  Nature  could  undergo 
no  further  exertion,  and  I  was  about  to  sink 
with  exhaustion,  the  form  of  the  Diddy  ap- 
peared before  me.  Repulsive  aa  it  had  always 
been,  it  was  welcome  now.  He  was  the  only 
being  living  who  knew  me— wkom  I  wished  to 
know  me." 

"  White  Rose,"  exclaimed  Liper,  reproach- 
fully. She  waved  her  hand. 

"I  was  at  the  time  frenzied,"  she  said,  in 
the  same  hurried  tone.  "  Still  I  remembered 
that  the  old  man  lived  in  the  meanest  and 
most  secluded  looaliry,  and  I  thought  that  the 
wretched  home  woulct  afford  me  an  un discov- 
erable retreat,  in  which  to  hide  my  ehame.  I 
spoke  to  him  a  few  words— words  which  I 
knew  would  prevent  him  receiving  me,  or  at- 
tempt to  exert  any  control  over  me,  excepfc 
upon  roy  own  terms,  lie  joyfully  recognized 
me,  and  brought  me  to  this  place.  I  offered  to 
pay  him  his  demand  for  two  miserable  rooms 
and  my  food  ;  he  agreed  to  suppty  me  with 
work,  by  which  I  could  raise  the  means  to  pay 
him.  You  see  it  before  you,"  the  said,  point- 
ing to  the  heaps  o/  artificial  flowers  which 
were  upon  the  table  and  the  floor,  close  to 
where  sbe  had  been  sitticg.  "  It  is  the  toil  of 
tbe  elave,"  she  continued,  speakirg  with  bit- 
terness; "labor  from  dawn  to  midnight,  to 
earn  a  wretched  sum,  barely  adequate  to  the 
support  of  life,  and  leavicg  notning  for  the 
supply  of  other  tbings  which  Ere  equally  ne- 
cessaries with  food.  Wi.y  is  it,  Liper,  that 
longer  hours  cf  labor  should  be  demanded  and 
expected  from  woman  than  from  man,  and 
that  they  thould  be  paid  so  much,  so  very 
much  ICES  for  their  work?" 

Liper  shrugged  his  (shoulder?,  and  looked 
around  him. 

"  You  are  weary  of  your  toil,  White  Rose— 
you  may  well  be,-'  be  answered.  *'  You  are  in 
a  fittirg  mood  to  leave  it  behind  you  ;  it  has 
been  one  more  weight  added  to  jour  burden, 
and  you  must  not  omit  it  in  tfce  li*t  jou  will 
have  to  submit  to  the  proud  Marc'aionees  of 
Westcheeter.  Let  all  such,  however,  end 
here,"  he  concluded  ;  you  have  higher  capa- 
bilities than  are  required  in  the  manufac  ure 
of  such  tbings  as  these  upon  winch  you  have 
been  emplojirg  yourself,  and  such  a  home  as 
this  is  no  home  for  you.  R? member,  White 
Rote,  that  the  crimes  of  others  do  not  make 
you  guilty ;  that  thtir  thameful  acts  do  cot 
make  you  ehamefal ;  that  it  ia,  iLdfet-d,  jcur 
duty  to  redeem  in  your  pereoa,  so  f-»r  sa  you 
can,  the  errors  of  wbich  they  have  been 
guilly.  Should  the  worst  come  to  the  worst, 
and  you  prefer  to  live  ia  retirement,  vi  h  that 
regis  er  inyour  poeeemcn,  and  ina  c  )LV/C  ica 
in  your  mind  tnatjou  ere  legiumattly  fn- 
titled  to  a  high  and  proud  nsme,  jou  r&ay 
live  in  peace,  in  reepectabiiky,  and  in  com- 
fort." 

She  looked  at  him,  asd  placed  her  hands  in 
hi»,  end  e«id,  «ith  a  forced  and  sorrowful 
smile : 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


153 


"At  school,  while  worMog  at  the  classics, 
Lipar;  there  was  an  aphorism  with  which  I 
met,  aad  which  was  ufterward  ic<*e8Btti,t?y 
running  in  my  mind  ;  it  was  :  *  Aut  Casar  aut 
nullusl'  I  will  be  the  daughter  of  a  mar- 
chioneps.  or — tbe  Poor  Girl! ' 

«*  I  will  not  argue  with  you  now  on  this 
point,"  Jbe  rejoined  ;  "  but  if  i*eed  f  >r  it  should 
arise,  I  wiil  argue  with  you  until  I  bring  you 
to  my  way  of  thinking.  Farewell,  Waite 
Rose,  remember  your  appointment,  and  keep 
it." 

He  pressed  her  hands,  and  glided  swiftly 
away,  leaving  her  in  a  far  ca'mer  frame  of 
mind  than  that  in  which  he  had  found  her. 

A*,  tbe  hour,  and  en  the  night  appointed, 
Li  per  was  at  hia  post. 

He  watched  the  Daddy  appear  from  tbe 
door  of  bia  house,  and  go  through  the  same 
stealthy  and  cat-like  performance  ts  before. 
He  followed  him  round  to  the  corner  of  tbe 
street,  nod  saw  him  enter  the  publie-houee, 
and  then  he  returned  to  the  appointed  spot. 

Floret  was  there. 

"Without  a  word  he  led  the  way  to  a  street 
in  which  stood  a  cab.  He  handed  her  into  it, 
and  mounted  the  box  with  the  coachman,  and, 
after  a  long  drive,  the  vehicle  stopped  ac- 
cording to  his  directions. 

He  jumped  down,  bade  the  driver  wait,  and 
assisting  Floret  out,  conducted  her  through 
several  turnings.  He  paused  before  a  door 
let  into  a  long'briek  wall,  and  opening  it,  ad- 
mitted her. 

"Do  not  speak  a  word  to  any  one,"  ne 
whispered,  "  and  tread  softly  !;> 

In  a  another  minute  she  was  confronted  by 
Hagar  Lot,  who  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment 
sternly.  Then  a  savage  smile  broke  over  her 
face. 

She  beckoned  Floret  to  follow  her,  and,  by 
a  secret  entrance,  obtained  admission  to  a 
large  house. 

•She  accessed  several  flights  of  narrow 
stairs,  and  paused  before  a  door. 

This  she  opened  without  a  sound. 

"Enter  there,"  she  whispered  to  Floret, 
pointing  to  a  gorgeously-tarnished  room, 
lighted  by  a  brilliant  lamp. 

With  a  beating  heart,  but  with  a  prond 
step,  Floret  obeved  her. 

CHAPTER  LXXV. 

The  circle  smiled,  tben  whisper'd,  and  then  Hjeer'3  ; 

The  naiss;  a  brvilerl,  and  the  rcatror.s  f  rown  d  ; 
Some  hoped  thtBgsmiijhtDottnfncutfcjtheyfear'd : 

iicma  wou'd  n:  tdeem  such  wunen  ciuld  bofouLd  ! 
8  jnaeLe'.rbelit  redone  h*lf  of  what  they  heard  ; 

S-me  1  'ok'd    perplexM,  and  others  look'd  pro- 

f.ur.d; 

Ard  several  pitted  wUh  sincere  regret 
Poor  Lord  Augustus  Fitz-Plantagentt." 

— BYRON. 

Wh«n  the  Marchioness  of  Westcheater  quit- 
ted the  E-trl  of  Brack'eigb,  hia  burning  glan 
cea  were  glitrericg  before  her  eyes,  hia  fervid 
wore s  were  quivering  in  her  ears,  and  an  al 
most  overpowering  thrill  was  pervading  her 
Lame,  for  she  had  once  more  reoliued  upon 


lia  shoulder,  had  orce  again  inaUooUvely 
\ieMedi  to  his  embrace,  and  had  fth  the  waim 
pressure  of  hia  hand. 

Alas  !  the  emotion  was  only  too  pleasurable 
to  her.  She  had  once  loved  him  wua  ar  ent 
atd  unselfidh  sinctri'v,  btciuse  she  bed«ved 
him  to  he  the  beau  ideal  of  a  man,  not  oiily 
physicully  but  icentilJy.  He  hid  foieed  her 
to  despise  him,  but  the  love  she  had  borne 
Lim  had  sever  been  eradicated. 

She  loved  Mai  sail  ;  loved  him,  slthongh 
she  scorned  him  ;  but  that,  unfonunauly  for 
her,  was  an  attribute  of  her  womau'a  tature. 
It  is  rare  to  find  an  instance  of  a  woman'*  love 
turning  to  hate  af'er  she  discovers  the  «an 
who  has  won  her  aff  c?ion  to  be  no  he»terthan 
a  selfish  knave.  Woman's  hate  may  spring 
out  of  contemned  love,  io  peldnm  does  out  of 
her  inward  contempt  for  the  object  ot  ber  af- 
fection. No  womin  wiil  acknowledge  that 
fcbe  can,  does,  or  could  love  a  man  wbom  she 
at  the  same  time  must  despiee  ;  bun  ei  •« 
nevertheless.  Byron  certainly  had 
in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  : 

11  Mac's  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart, 
'Tis  woman's  wbole  existence." 

It  was  true,  at  least,  of  the  Marchioness  of 
Westchester. 

She  hurried  to  the  summer  bouee,  as  had 
been  arranged  by  ber  pretty  male',  Ftiue  —  Nat 
Ferret's  second,  and,  as  yet,  tt'ongeet  weak- 
cess  —  and  had  barely  tiace  ta  arrange  hereelf 
in  a  peneive  attitude,  naturally  enough  as- 
sumed by  her,  whea  ebe  heaid  a  etiid  footstep 
upon  tbe  gravel  path  near  to  her  ;  presently  it 
paused  before  tbe  deor,  and  a  head  was  publied 
forward  into  the  more  than  gemi-darknede,aiid 
a  voice  exclaim*  d  : 

"  L*dy  Westchester,  are  you  here  ?" 

Faint,  quivering,  trecibliDg,  with  a  strange 
sickness  at  heart,  and  an  iuvoluntatily  ten- 
dency to  sigh,  deeply,  which  ehe  feJt  herself 
powerlees  to  prevent,  ehe  roee  up  and  moved 
out  of  the  summer-house. 

The  M'»rq"i3  stood  before  her  —  he  gazed  at 
her  sternly  and  questioningly. 

"Tmaia  a  new  and  fttran^e  caprice  of  yours,  f 
Lady  Weatclieeter,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  sneering, 
tone. 

"Will  your  lordship  conde°cend  to  explain! 
your  meaning  to  me?!'  she  replied,  ia  ES  cold, 
and  haughty  a  tone  aa  frhe  could  command. 

44  1  allude  to  your  wandering  aithisstrdEge-i 
ly  late  and  unseemly  hour,   alore 
tended,"  he  returned,  bidug  LIB  lip. 
ia  your  motive?" 

4-  My  wiill"  she  replied,  with  contra  cto<3 
brows. 

"  And  it  will  be  mine,  La<?y  W<  stcheeter, 
that  you  do  not  repeat  thia  iuipruc«nce,"  he 
returned,  quickly. 

He  heard  a  low,  scornful  laugh  e?cape  her 
lips.  He  grated  his  teein  together,  a^d  then 
added  :  : 

"  Your  movements  have  been  strangely  er- 
ratic of  late,  Lady  Westchester.  Wor  Lever  I 
have  occasion  to  speak  wicn  you,  ir>  h«erua  ^bat 
I  can  learn  nothing  of  your  inovtuiema 


"What 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


my  people,  and  when  compelled  to  seek  for 
you  myself,  1  fiod — '; 

44  Fane,"  interposed  the  Marchioness,  tarn- 
ing  to  ner  maid,  who  was  following  them,  and 
speaking  ia  a  light,  scoffing  tone,  which  made 
the  Mirquis  writhe,  "  you  will  not  forget,  in 
the  morniug,  to  provide  a  silken  cord,  one  end 
of  which  the  Marquis  may  affix  to  my  girdle, 
and  the  other  to  nia  own  wrist.  What  color 
shall  the  silken  fetters  be,  Weatchester — 
rose?" 

The  Marquis  turned  sharply  and  beheld  the 
maid  close  at  his  elbow.    lie  started,  and  eaid 
eternly  to  her,  as  he  pointed  to  the  house  : 
I     "You  can  go  in!" 

«sNay!>  interposed  the  Marchioness,  with 
the  same  affected  playfulness  of  tone ;  "  I  can- 
not for  a  short  time  dispense  with  the  assist- 
ance of  Fane.  My  erratic  movements  have 
somewhat  disordered  my  attire  and  hair.  I 
must  have  them  restored  to  that  normal  con- 
dition of  which  the  proprieties  of  society  ap- 
prove. Does  your  lordship  wish  to  speak 
with  me?" 

44 1  do,  Lady  Westchester,"  he  said,  grandly. 

"  And  alone  ?"  she  pursued.         * 

"  Alone  I"  he  repeated. 

"Ever  obedient  to  your  wish,  Lord  West- 
Chester,"  she  said,  frigidly,  but  with  a  glitter- 
ing eye.  "  I  will  attend  you  in  your  study  a 
few  minutes  hence,  but  I  must  first  claim  the 
indulgence  of  being  allowed  to  retire  to  my 
own  chamber,  in  order  that  my  toilet,  when 
I  again  appear  before  you,  may  be  all  that 
jour  lordship's  most  fastidious  sense  of  deco- 
rum will  approve." 

The  Marquis  grated  his  teeth  together,  but 
he  remained  silent.  The  Marchioness  knew 
that  he  woald  do  so  ;  she  had  adopted  the 
spirit  and  tone  of  her  observations  to  him  be- 
fore Fane,  in  order  that  she  mis;ht  silence  him. 
She  knew  what  gall  and  poison  she  was  pour- 
ing into  his  ears,  and  she  derived  a  species  of 
vicious  gratification  from  the  knowledge. 

No  man  can  so  deeply  wound  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  his  own  eex  as  can  a  woman.  She 
knows  so  exactly  where  and  how  to  stab  him ; 
and,  curious  problem  thai  she  ie,  ghe  will  do 
this  at  all  times  in  sport,  and  wonder  after- 
ward, when  the  results  of  her  mischievous 
mirth  begin  to  show  themselves,  that  her  bit- 
ter and  dangerous  insinuations  should  ever 
have  been  taken  in  earnest. 

Tne  Marquis  of  Westcaester  stalked  up  to 
the  house  m  eilent  moodiness.  He  halted  as 
they  all  entered  a  room  by  a  French  window. 
I ,  was  lighted  by  a  massivo  gilt  chandelier. 
He  palled  out  his  w*tch  and  examined  it,  and 
in  a  voice  which  was  scarcely  audible,  he 
eaid: 

*'  I  shall  expect  your  ladyship  in  my  study 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from  this  time.  It  ia 
now  ten  o'clock,  Lady  Westchester." 

Tne  Muchioness  turned  to  her  maid,  and  in 
a  toue  that  ebe  hud  never  before  condescended 
to  address  to  her,  she  said : 

"  I  thipk  we  saall  require  ten  minutes  long- 
er grace—eh,  Fane?" 


The  maid,  whoeeface  was  aa  white  M  mft> 
ble,  bent  respectfully,  and  said,  faintly  : 

"Yee,  my  lady." 

The  Mtiquia  darted  a  sharp  and  angry 
glance  at  Fane,  and  was  by  means  re -assured 
when  be  observed  how  pale  and  frightened 
one  looked. 

•'  At  half  past  ten  I  will  attend  your  lord- 
ship/' resumed  the  Marchioness,  addressing 
him  with  seeming  ease,  '-if  I  may  trespass  on 
your  lordship's  gracious  consideration  for  the 
longer  term." 

He  only  bowed,  he  would  not  trust  himself 
to  reply,  and  quitted  the  room  *ith  an  uncon- 
cerned aspect  cf  iil-humor. 

At  half-  past  ten,  the  Marchioness  appeared 
before  him,  dressed  for  an  evening  party.  He 
stared  at  her  with  amazement. 

"  Are  you  going  out  to-night,  Lady  West- 
Chester  ?"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  angry  tone, 

"  I  am  going  out  to-tight,  Lord  Wtstches- 
ter,"  ehe  answered,  slowly  and  composedly,  as 
t-he  fastened  a  bracelet  upon  her  wrist. 

"  You  amaze  me,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
movement  in  his  throat,  ts  if  he  were  half  suf- 
focated. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled — such  a 
pmiie.  li  gave  him  a  sensation  of  faintness. 
There  appeared  to  be  in  it  an  expression  of 
reckless  determination,  as  though  she  knew 
that  she  was  about  to  violate  some  law,  social 
or  moral,  and  would  suffer  no  consideration  to 
deter  her  from  ber  purpose. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  requested  permission  of 
your  lordship  before  I  accepted  the  engage- 
ment of  this  evening  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  taunt- 
ing tone.  "  It  has  not  been  our  usual  course 
of  proceeding  ;  but  life,  I  am  told,  ia  full  of 
changes.  Do  we  enter  upon  the  new  arrange- 
ment to  night,  Lord  Weetchester  ?" 

Again  he  appeared  to  feel  as  if  he  were 
chokirg,  but  by  a  strong  effort  he  concealed 
as  much  of  his  emotion  as  he  could. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Lady  Westchester  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  she  said,  glancing  at  her 
white,  round,  polished  shoulders ;  "  to  fulfill 
an  engagement  which  I  have  accepted." 

He  bit  his  upper  lip  beneath  his  moustache 
with  a  force  almost  sufficient  to  bite  it 
through. 

"  An  engagement,  Madam,  with  whom?"  h« 
interrogated,  sternly.  "At  least,  it  is  my 
privilege  to  ask  that." 

She  arranged  the  email  and  beautiful  bou- 
quet which  was  fastened  in  the  centre  of  the 
bosom  of  her  drees,  and  replied  with  an  elon- 
gated 

"  Ye— es !" 

He  waited  for  her  to  proceed,  but  presently 
she  said,  wiih  an  impatient  tone  : 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Westches- 
ter ?  Why  do  you  not  say  it  ?  You  will  make 
me*  late  for  my  appointment — ft — that  ia,  I 
promised  to  be  early." 

"  Promised  whom,  Lady  Westchsster?"  he 
exclaimed,  furiously.  "  I  insist  upon  you  tell- 
ing mo  that." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


155 


She  looked  at  him  between  her  half-closed 
eyes. 

"How  demonstrative  yon  have  grown  of 
late,  Westchester,"  she  remarked,  with  a  scorn- 
ful curl  upon  her  upper  lip,  and  added,  with 
an  affected  surprise,  which  almost  drove  him 
frantic :  **  What  can  possibly  have  occurred 
to  draw  you  out  of  vour  usual  apathetic,  cold 
indifference  to  everything— even  to  me?  I 
should  almost  have  felt  disposed  to  add  that 
last  remark  seriously,  but  that  I  have  been  so 
long  to  ?eu  the  object  of  unconcern,  and — and 
— distant  contemplation,  only  that  it  would 
ha^e  been  an  absurdity  for  me  to  have  dragged 
it  in  as  though  I  meant  it." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  trembling  with  rage — 
the  worst  of  all  rage— jealous  rage. 

"  Lady  Westchester,"  he  commenced,  mak- 
ing almost  superhuman  efforts  to  apeak  cold- 
ly, but  firmly  ;  "  I  will  not  condescend  to  re- 
fer to  your  taunts — to  say  nothing  harsher  of 
them,  they  are  both  unbecoming  and  un- 
worthy of  you — but  I  will  know  not  only  where 
you  are  going,  but  whom  you  are  going  to 
meet" 

She  re -arranged  a  bracelet,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  it,  and  said,  in  an  indif- 
ferent, almost  drawling  tone : 

"Re»]ly,  Westchester,  I  imagined  that  you 
did  not  concern  yourself  one  jot  about  where 
I  go,  or  whom  I  meet." 

"  You  find,  Madam,  that  you  are  mistaken. 
I  am  resolved  that  I  will  know  both,"  he  said, 
trying  to  moisten  his  parched  lips  with  his  yet 
more  parched  tongue. 

"  Indeed,  I  think  you  very  foolish,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  short  laugh. 

He  stamped  his  foot,  and  cried,  fiercely  : 

"Lady  Westcheater,  this  banter  ia  indecent. 
You  shall  not  leave  this  roof,  Madam,  unless  I 
know  where  you  are  going,  and  the  name  of 
the  person  whom  you  have  arranged  to  meet. 
When  I  have  that  information,  I  shall  know 
how  to  act." 

She  sat  down  upon  a  chair,  and  laughed 
with  seemingly  great  enjoyment.  He  grew 
livid  with  passion,  and  gripped  her  so  sharp- 
ly ny  the  wrist,  that  she  screamed  with  pain. 

Then  she  rose  up  with  her  usual  proud, 
haughty  mein,  and  by  an  exertion  of  consider- 
able strength,  flung  off  his  hand. 

She  glanced  at  him  scornfully,  from  toe  to 
crest,  and  said,  contemptuously  : 

"  You  forget  yourself,  my  Lord  Marquis  of 
Westchester." 

He  threw  his  clenched  hands  in  the  air,  and 
exclaimed,  passionately : 

"I  will  endure  this  torture  no  longer.  I 
will  not  be  the  scoffed,  the  scorned,  the  de- 
rided, as  well  as  the  duped. 

"  The  whet?  Lord  Westchester!"  she  inter- 
posed, sharply — so  sharply  end  distinctly,  that 
it  somewhat  recalled  him  to  a  calmer  frame  of 
mind.  Then  she  added,  as  for  &  moment  he 
remained  silent : 

"  Beware  how  you  make  assertions  which 
you  are  unable  to  support  by  proof.  Your 


insinuations  I  despise,  your  assumptions  I  hold 
in  contempt ;  but  your  assertions  are  deliber- 
ate charges,  and  if  you  make  one  against  me, 
bearing  reference  to  the  observation  which 
you  have  just  made,  I  will  compel  you  to 
prove  it." 

"You  will  compel  me  to  prove  it,  Lady 
Westchester?"  he  returned,  wish  unqualified 
amazement.  "May  I  aak  you  in  wba*  shape?" 

"By  an  application  to  the  Ecclesiastical 
Court  for  a  divorce,"  she  said,  with  a  peculiar 
and  a  bitter  emphasis,  which  appeared  to  beat 
him  down  with  their  terrible  force :  for  he  tot- 
tered and  staggered,  and  sank  into  his  seat 
again.  "  You  will  there  have  the  opportunity 
of  bringing  forward  your  charges,  and  of  sub-  . 
stantiating  them,  if  you  can!" 

"  Woman,  you  torture  me  to  madness !"  he 
cried,  and  flinging  his  arms  upon  the  table,  he 
bowed  his  head  upon  them. 

She  gazed  upon  him  with  an  expression  of 
compassion,  commiseration,  or  even  pity  visi- 
ble upon  her  countenance,  and  there  was  a 
strange,  head  glitter  in  her  eye,  which  told  that 
the  worst  part  of  her  nature  was  then  in  the 
ascendant.  She  looked  at  him  and  spoke  to 
him  as  if  be  were  an  incumbrance,  an  annoy- 
ance, a  troublesome  object  in  her  way — one 
whose  absence  would  leave  ber  free  as  air. 

Yet  she  did  not  wish  to  take  the  initative  to 
bring  about  a  separation  between  them ;  she 
was  anxious  to  force  him  to  act,  and  with  that 
object  she  determined,  as  she  knew  how,  to 
work  upon  his  proud,  susceptible  nature,  to 
goad  him  into  a  mad  hatred  of  her,  the  result 
of  which  would  be,  that  he  would  pause  at 
nothing  to  wrench  his  liberty  from  him. 

She  did  not  take  ir.to  her  calculations  two 
facts  ;  ons  that  he  really  loved  her ;  and  the 
other,  that  when  a  man  over  fifty  falls  in  love, 
his  passion  mostly  becomes  an  infatuation 
that  no  cruelty  on  the  part  of  the  woman  can 
dispel. 

As  she  gazed  upon  his  convulsed  frame,  she 
did  not  euppoEe  that  she  had  extorted  from 
him  a  passionate  burst  of  scalding  tears.  She 
imagined  that  t is  quiverirg  limbs  betokened 
only  suppressed  rage  ;  and  the  efftcc  of  hia 
agony  was  not,  therefore,  the  same  upon  her 
mind  as  it  might  have  been  if  she  had  judged 
it  truthfully.  She  therefore  replied,  coldly : 

"  You  torture  yourself,  Lord  Westcheater, 
and  please  to  throw  the  responsibility  upon 
my  shoulders.  I  beg  that  this  childish  scene 
may  end — I  am  pressed  for  time.  You  bad 
better  defer  the  communication  which  you 
have  to  make  until  the  morning  ;  I  can  tiien 
give  you  the  day— if  that  will  be  long 
enough." 

He  rose  up  ;  his  face  was  as  white  as  if  life 
had  departed  from  it. 

"  Do  you  yet  refuse  to  inform  me  whither 
you  are  going  to-night?"  he  eaid,  ia  a  voice 
which  had  a  tone  of  desperation  in  it. 

Sbe  only  glanced  at  him,  and  again  busied 
herself  in  touching  and  disposing  of  the  flow- 
ers in  her  bosom. 

"Eefuse  you,  Lord  Westchenter,"  she  re- 


isa 


HAGAK  LOT ; 


plied,  with  a  supercilious  smile.  "  I  have  never 
refused  any  such  thing,  if  you  will  do  me  the 
fkvor  to  refer  to  your  exceedingly  fertile  mem- 
ory." 

•«  You  withheld  it,  Madam,"  he  cried,  im- 
periouely. 

*•  I  do  not,  Sir  I"  she  responded,  in  a  tone 
wbioh  resembled  his  own  so  closely,  that  it 
Bounded  like  mockery. 

44  Fur  the  last  time,  I  ask  you  whither  you 
are  fcoiog  to-night,  dressed  thus  V  '  he  exclaim- 
ed, in  a  1  >w,  savage  voice,  but  still  with  an  as- 
sumption of  d'gnity,  which  was  preserved  only 
by  a  great  effort.  "  I  sek  you,  Lady  West- 
cheater,  plainly  and  categorically,  and  I  can- 
Lot,  cor  w>li  1,  receive  an  evasive  reply." 

*•  Tnen,  Lord  Westchester,"  she  returned,  in 
as  grandiloquent  a  tone  as  his  own,  "  in  obe- 
dience to  ycur  cciumands,  I  beg  to  inform 
you  that  I  asn  about  to  proceed  to  Pl«ntagenet 
House,  to  meet  the  Lacy  Henrietta  Plantage- 
net,Mr.  Plaatagenet,  and— " 
i  Sbe  paused  abruptly. 

"  WiomV"  was  asked,  quickly. 

'*  Really,"  she  subjoined,  with  a  slight  shrug 
of  the  shculderr,  "  1  cannot  say — 1  have  not 
Been  Lidy  Henrietta's  list." 

'•  I  will  accompany  you,"  he  said,  laconic- 
ally. 

i  "  Impossible  !"  she  said,  hastily,  and  half 
Cheeked  herself. 

"  Why  V"  he  inquired,  quickly  and  sternly. 

"  You  wi:l  be  eo  late,5'  she  returned,  with 
an  altered  txpreseion,  and  an  affected  poutirg 
of  the  lip  ;  "  you  have  to  dress.  Mamma  will 
expect  me  much  earlier  than  I  esn  possibly 
reach  her  if  I  wait  for  you.  You  can  defer 
your  visit  to  another  opportunity.  Mamma 
wiil  be  g)ad  to  see  you  some  day  next  week." 

Lord  Weatehtster  champed  his  teeth  to- 
gether, &nd  approaching  the  bell,  rang  it  with 
gome  violence. 

A  eervant  quickly  appeared. 

The  Marchioness  watched  with  glittering 
eyes  from  behind  her  fan  the  expression  of  the 
Marqub's  face  while  he  addressed  the  servant ; 
*nd  elie  listened  to  hear  what  he  would  say. 

*'Ia  Lacy  Weetcliesier's  carriage  at  the 
door  ?"  he  aeled,  sharply. 

'•'  It  ia  my  Lord,"  returned  the  man. 

"  Detain  it  there.  I  shall  accompany  her 
lad*  ship.  Send  my  valet  to  my  room." 

Tho  rnaa  bowed  und  disappeared. 

The  Marchioness  laughed. 

"  Wiiila  your  lordship  ia  dressing?,  I  will  re- 
turn to  my  chamber,"  ehe  said,  with  bitter 
eareaem,  "and  dispatch  Fane  for  the  silken 
oord  which  ia  henceforward  and  for  ever  to  at- 
taeh  ua  together ;  but  I  tbink  we  must  change 
the  co1  or.  It  should  be  yellow — how  say  you, 
Wfcsto  tester?" 

Ha  uiovtd  toward  the  door  through  which 
t'^e  r  frvant  had  passed,  and  removing  the  key, 
iifcld  it  up. 

"  This  i3  my  answer  to  your  ladyship,"  he 
eeid  ;  acd  closing  the  door  behind  him,  helock- 
ed  is  en  the  outtide. 
For  a  moment  she  appeared  to  be  over- 


whelmed with  amazement.  The  conduct  oi 
the  Marquis  was  so  wholly  unlike  anything 
that  she  had  seen  of  him,  or  could  have  ex- 
pected of  him,  that  she  stood  quite  bewildered. 

At  length,  taking  a  deep  breath,  she  set  her 
teeth  together,  as  she  paced  the  room. 

"Tyranny,  insult,  and  vulgarity  combined," 
she  muttered.  "  The  struggle  has  indeed  com- 
menced now.  We  shall  see  which  will  go  to 
the  w^ll.  I  will  sunder  the  tie  which  I  fasten- 
ed myself,  at  every  hazard ;  and  for  the  episode 
of  to-night  I  will  punish  him  to-night.  Jealous 
fool !  Fool,  because  he  has  betrayed  his  in- 
firmity to  me,  and  I  will  woik  upon  it  until  I 
diive  him  insane.  The  jealous  man  who  has 
pride  reigning  over  every  action  of  his  life, 
and  breathing  in  every  sentiment  he  uttew,  is 
worse  than  an  idiot  if  fce  permits  her  of  whom 
he  is  jealous  to  perceive  his  distrust  of  her." 

She  seated  herself,  and  pl«yed  nervously 
with  her  fan,  and  for  some  short  lime  reflected 
seriously  and  abstractedly.  Then  she  rose  up 
and  paced  the  room  again. 

"  He  is  in  the  way,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  but 
for  him  the  result  of  mutual  explanations 
might  be  a  re-union  with  Bertram,  without  a 
return  of  that  apathetic  listlessness  which 
parted  us.  But  he  is  cured  of  that  now ;  ho 
has  learned  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  prize 
he  has  lost,  and  he  will,  when  it  ia  restored  to 
him,  be  careful  not  to  lo£e  it  again,  and  for- 
ever. Yes,  the  struggle  has  commenced.  I 
have  pcisored  Westchester's — Meicy!  Why 
can  I  not  lid  myself  of  that  dreadful  thought  ? 
Why  did  that  woman-fiend  place  in  my  hands 
a  power  so  terrible,  a  temptation  so  fearful  ? 
Poison,  it  has  a  ghastly  sound — a  mere  pinch 
of  the  dust,  and  I  should.be  free.  No,  no,  no  ! 
it  must  not  be.  I  will  forget  that  I  have  ever 
received  the  deadiy  substance  from  her,  or  re- 
member it  cn7y  when  life  has  grown  insup- 
portable to  me.  No  ;  my  plan,  which  I  hi.ve 
already  commenced,  is  the  best.  He  can  feel ; 
that  I  see,  and  I  will  torture  him  to  madneesr 
until  I  mske  him  fly  from  me,  as  though  I 
were  a  venomous  serpent." 

Evea  while  the  last  thought  was  passing 
through  her  mind,  she  perceived  the  Marquis 
standing  at  the  now  open  door,  and  heard  him 
eay: 

"Your  carriage  awaits  you,  Lady  West- 
cheater." 

"And  the  silken  cord!"  sho  exclaimed, 
forcing  an  icy  liugh. 

"  Permit  me  to  be  your  escort,  Lady  West- 
cheater,"  te  responded,  as  though  he  did  nofc 
hear  her,  in  his  mo?t  frigid  tone. 

She  bowed,  and  they  made  their  way  to  the 
carriage,  entered  it,  and  were  driven  rapidly 
to  Piantsgenet  House. 

As  they  were  about  to  alight,  the  Marchion 
ess  observed : 

';  I  am  quite  distressed  to  thick  I  should 
have  bet  n  the  occasion  cf  drawirg  ycu  frcm 
your  study.  I  know  that  you  are  eo  fond  of 
your  books,  and  you  must  be  aware  tbar  I  c  13 
manage  to  pass  my  time  without  you  quite 
agreeably.  I  fear  that  yen  have  spoiled  your 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


157 


own  pleasure  this  evening,  and,"  she  added, 
d  o  ping  her  voioo  slightly,  "iny  enjoyment, 
too." 

"  Possibly,  I  have  interfered  with  your  ar- 
ranp^  ouents,"  be  remarked,  sarcastically. 

"  N>it  exactly  that,  Lord  Westchester,"  she 
replied.  "  I  intended  to  infer  that  I  shall  not 
eirjoy  myself  unless  I  perceive  that  jou  move 
ab.ir.  and  are  qune  gay.  You  know  that  your 
society  i^  eageily  Bought  for  by  several  dowa- 
ger, wuo  were  rather  anxious  to  catch  you  in 
jour  youth,  and  who  are  disposed  to  regard 
you  with  favor  now,  although  you  were  once 
proof  t  >  their  blandishments." 

He  dared  not  trust  himself  to  reply  to  her 
«*•-  nioi^  remarks,  although  he  felt  them  bitter- 
ly. He  employed  binaself  in  revolving  in  his 
mind  thnse  circumstances  with  which  he  was 
acquuin'fcd,  and  which  were  damaging  to  her  ; 
ana  be  resolved  again  to  prosecute  an  ioquiry 
into  them,  end,  when  he  had  completed  it,  to 
bring  her  to  an  unequivocal  understanding 
*ith  h>m.  He  quits  believed  by  the  time  he 
had  done  this,  he  should  have  encountered  the 
E  irl  of  Braekieigh  and  have  elain  him  in  mor- 
tal combat. 

S  range  infatuation  I  He  believed  that  the 
death  ot  that  man  would  induce  the  Marahion 
ess  to  bestow  upon  him  that  affection  which 
she  should  have  regarded  him  with  when  they 
were  married,  and  which  he  knew  only  too 
well  had  nev<  r  been  his. 

That  night  was  a  terrible  one  for  both. 

Tie  assembly  of  Lady  Henrietta  Piantage- 
jaet  was  very  fully  attended,  and  the  Marchion 
es?,  as  usual,  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
best  dressed  women  in  the  room.  As  usual, 
too,  she  commanded  the  admiration  of  the  op- 
posite sex,  and  tho  envy  of  her  own. 

But  not,  as  usual,  was  she  cold,  haughty, 
and  reserved.  Sae  displayed,  on  the  contrary, 
the  greatest  vivacity;  abe  listened  to  flittering 
rema.ika,  and  received  flattering  attentions  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  render  the  Marquis  all 
but  delirious. 

Ue  followed  her  about  as  closely  as  her 
;  he  gazed  at  her  vindictively  when  he 
«on~idtred  that  she  bad  become  too  demon- 
strative. and  he  scowled  malij*  nsn>  ly  at  the 
La^y  Henrietta  Piantagenet,  who  —  delighted 
to  tee  her  daughter  ciyplay  BO  much  Epright- 
linee*  —  brought  to  her  every  young  man  of 
fashion  who  was  more  noted  for  his  rank, 
i.  anl  good  looks,  than  for  his  scrupulous 


Tbe  Marchioness  danced  much  :  sh«  did  not 
zniee  »  w  1  z  ;  bat  he  paced  round  the  dancers 
slowly,  ef  er  the  fashion  —  if  it  were  not  too 
ludicrous  to  describe  his  action  —  of  that  noble- 
man who  walks  round  a  horse  circus,  in  at- 
tendance upon  the  young  lady  of  high  rank 
who  performs  equestrian  wonaera  on  the  bare 
back  cf  a  fl  *  ing  steed. 

Pile,  us  though  heated  to  a  white  heat,  he 
pac«J  the  outer  ring,  keeping  his  fiery  eyes 
f*bter;fed  upon  tn«  Marchioness  during  the 
whole  of  her  evc-luti  jne,  and  was  at  her  side 
the  iubtuiiti  tLe  dance  ceased. 


The  change  in  the  behavior  of  the  Marchion- 
ess created  quits  a  sefisaiion:  every  one  pres- 
ent was  delighted—  except,  the  Marquis,  who 
was  Buffering  the  wildest  agonies  of  a  silent 
frenzy. 

Occasionally,  in  spite  of  Ms  jealous  watchful- 
ness, the  Marchioness  would  escape  from  him ; 
and  he  would,  after  a  sharp,  smart  search,  find 
her  absolutely  laughing  and  fluting,  like  a 
young  girl,  with  some  earnest  eyed,  handsome' 
fellow, 'who,  from  that  moment,  he  consigned' 
to  the  realms  of  bis  ete^ML^.  | 

A  young  duke,  who  ^1  ^but  of  a  long* 
minority,  and  who  was  v  n  of  an  enor- ; 

myus  rent-roll,  and  a  rqB  ffwhich  should 
have  closed  the  door  nKvlry  respectable! 
family  against  bim.  was  attracted  by  the  sin- 1 
gular  beauty  and  vivacity  of  tbe  Mirchionees,' 
and  paid  her  much  court.  His  attentions  to  her; 
the  Marquis  locked  upon  as  a  deliberate  insult' 
to  his  honor,  and  the  Marchioness  received! 
them  without  that  look  ot  icy  frii-umy  which 
had  always  previously  repelled  irom  her  BO 
m><r.y  men  of  his  stamp  and  class. 

Tae  Marquis,  though  writhing  with  torture, 
was  unable  to  offer  a  remark  reepeetirg  him 
to  the  Marchiotees  ;  because,  while  there  was 
muih  in  his  looks  and  canter  to  which  he 
could  take  exception,  there  was  nothing  so 
palpable  as  would  warrant  hia  playing  tbe 
part  of  the  jealous  husband  before  such  au  as- 
semblage as  were  the»e  present. 

Twice  or  thrice  be  suggested  to  the  Mar- 
chioness that  he  should  conduct  her  to  her  car- 
riage ;  bat  she  declined,  wi.h  a  frown  and  a 
gesture  which  suggested  that  be  was  trouble- 
some, and  was  not~entitkd  to  one  iota  of  her 
coceideration. 

He  regr.d  inwardly  at  her  treatment  of  him, 
and  be  cefeermiced  to  retaliate  in  BOOD«  w«y,  if 
possible.  A  design  which  be  had  Already  in 
his  mind,  and  which  his  own  piec'pitate  jeal- 
ousy had  deferred,  he  resolved  should  be  car- 
ried out  the  very  nest  day,  if  it  were  possible. 
While  in  this  desperate  frame  of  mind,  stand- 
ing somewhat  apurt  from  the  Marc  uonees,  for 
the  would  neither  speak  to  ccr  tf  ke  no  ice  ofl 
him  while  he  stood  oy  her  eide,  Lord  Nibilalu 
bum,  who  was  speaking  to  him,  and  to  whom; 
be  was  unable  to  pay  the  slightest  attention,; 
even  though  he  was  congratulating  bim  warm-  J 
ly  upen  the  "  thpwighthneth  cf  tb«  Ma*tbion-  i 
feth,"  suddenly  fired  a  hundred  pound  cannon-'; 
shot  in  his  ear  in  the  way  of  a  question. 

"  Da  >ou  know  BwaekleighV"  he  at-kt-d. 

'*  Ye  —ye — yes — no — n — n — no  !"  in  turned 
the  Murquis,  excitedly.  •'  Js  Le  b«re?"  i 

"  He  wath  a  few  uiomentht  back,"  returned 
Lord  JNihilalbum.  > 

"  Where — where  ?"  Interrogated  the  Mar- ' 
quis,  eagerly. 

44  In  one  of  the  ante-chambetht,"  returned 
Lord  Niuilalbum.  "  Would  jou  ake  to  know 
him?  I  will  intwoduth  you  " 

44 1  wish  much  to  meet  with  bim,  pray  tate 
me  where  we  shall  ee&  him!"  be  answered, 
with  a  kind  cf  feverish  impatience. 

"With  playthaw,"  drawled  his  Lordship; 


153 


HAGAR  LOT  : 


•«B«rackleigh  will  be  only  too  delighted  to 
make  youaw  ucquaintantb,  I  am  thaw.  Thith 
wayt" 

lie  led  the  way  from  the  splendid  ealoon,  in 
which  the  dancing  was  being  carried  on,  in 
newspaper  parlance,  "with  much  spirit",  the 
Marquis  following  with  knitted  brows,  Bet 
teetb,  acd  clenched  hands. 

Tney  searched  all  the  ante-chambers ;  but 
in  vain — Lord  Nibilalbum  was  unable  to  tin- 
kennel  the  Earl  cfj^rackleigh. — and  they  re- 


turned disap 
declaring  th 
and  his  iordfe 
Oa  reach! 
noyed  thai  he 


^the  Ealoon,  the  Marquis 
"iip  must  be  mistaken, 

ig  that  he  was  not. 
loon,  the  Marquis,  an- 
lave  been  drawn  away 

for  a  moment  from  observing  the  conduct  of 
the  Marchioness,  looked  eagerly  for  her ;  but, 
to  his  dismay,  he  did  not.  on  glancing  round 
the  room,  perceive  her.  He  looked  more  care- 
fully amocg  the  promenadeis,  but  she  was 
nowhere  visible. 

He  qnit  ed  the  side  of  Lord  Nihilalbum, 
and  commenced  a  distracted  search  for  her ; 
but  it  was  quite  clear  that  she  was  no  longer 
in  the  saloon. 

He  hurried  88  swiftly  aa  he  durst  through 
the  ante- chambers,  but  with  no  better  success. 
Sick  at  hearfr,  frenzied  in  mind,  and  cold  as 
ice,  he  makes  liis  way  back  to  the  saloon,  and 
there  almost  ran  over  Lady  Henrietta  Plan- 
tagenet. 

He  inquired  shortly  and  sharply  of  her  of 
the  Marchioness,  and  she  replied,  th&t  the 
fancied  that  she  had  eeen  her  enter  one  of  the 
floral  recesses  with  the  young  Duke  of  St. 
Aubyn,  whose  attention s  to  her  during  the 
evening*  ehe  declared,  had  been  of  the  most 
gratifying  description. 

With  a  curae  upon  his  lips,  the  Marquis 
made  a  da«h  at  the  floral  recesses  ;  but  he  was 
unable  to  find  the  duke  or  the  Marchioness  or 
any  one  of  them. 

With  an  effort,  which  cost  him  an  excess  of 
agony,  he  made  some  inquiries,  in  blank 
terms,  for  the  Marchioness  of  some  of  those 
busy-bocies  and  know-alls,  who  manage  to  ex- 
tort admission  to  euch  receptions  and  assem- 
blies by  some  backstairs  influence,  and  who 
reward  the  grace  accorded  to  them  by  taking 
note  of  everything  that  passes,  and  repeating 
it  when  it  will  be  likely  to  be  of  pecuniary 
service  to  them. 

One  of  these,  a  painted  harridan,  told  him, 
with  a  smile,  that  she  had  eeen  the  Marchion- 
ess a  few  minutes  previously  leaning  upon  the 
arm  of  tbe  yourg  Duke  of  St.  Aubjn,  and 
proceeding,  eke  presumed,  to  her  carriage; 
she  was  certainly  leaving  the  house. 

With  a  gasp,  he  made  a  rush  toward  the 
hall,  and  io  quired  of  one  of  the  footmen 
whe'lur  h78  ctrri&ge  was  within  call.  He  was 
told  that  tbe  Mircaioness  had  just  gone  away 
in  i*.  "Aloserbeaeked. 

The  footman  could  not  inform  him. 

"With  an  aspect  Jike  a  ghost,  bo  hurried 
from  the  house,  engaged  a  street-cab,  an$ 
drove  direct  home  by  the  nearest  route. 


On  reaching  his  maceioB,  it  had,  aa  he  gazed 
wiVfully  and  with  a  beating  heart  afc  it,  a 
silent  and  deserted  look.  Neither  hie  carriage 
nor  any  other  was  near.  With  a  picking 
heart  and  a  whirling  brain  he  entered  bis 
house  and  inquired  whether  the  Marchioness 
had  returned. 

He  was  informed  that  she  had  been  home 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  tbat  his  car- 
riage had  returned  for  him  to  Plantagenet 
House. 

Al  hough  there  was  some  relief  in  tbe  intel- 
ligence, he  retired  with  harrowed  feelings  to 
his  room,  and  paaeed  a  dreadful  night.  E*rly 
in  the  morning,  he  sent  a  message  to  the  Mar- 
chioness, requesting  that  she  would  receive 
him  to  breakfast  with  her  She  plraded  fa- 
tigue, and  promised  to  attend  him  in  his  study 
at  iwfclve  o'clock. 

He  awaited  her  coming  with  intense  itn pa- 
tience, for  he  feared  that  she  would  not  keep 
her  word ;  but  at  the  hour  appointed  she 
stood  before  him. 

She  was  pale  and  chenged  in  her  manner ; 
ehe  was  cold,  reserved,  gloomy,  and  haughtier 
than  ever. 

She  awaited  his  attack. 

The  fi  6t  question  he  addressed  to  her  was  to 
request  her  to  inform  him  why  ebe  returned 
home  without  him.  Her  answer,  cslm^y  and 
readiJy  given,  was,  that  she  Jeh  fatigued,  and 
wished  to  return  home ;  but;  aa  his  lordship 
was  not  in  tbe  salocn,  and  as  b3  bad  not  con- 
descended to  inform  her  whither  he  was  going, 
or  whether  he  would  return,  she  accepted  the 
nearest  escort  at  hand,  and  proceeded  to  her 
carriage. 

"Who  was  that  escort?"  he  inquired. 

Sie  replied,  with  a  smile  that  froze  hinv 
that  ehe  could  not  remember,  asd added  that, 
aa  i5  was  not  her  intention  to  make  any  farther 
reference  to  the  proceedings  at  Piantagenet 
House,  she  requetted  to  kaow  what  w*s  the 
subject  of  importance  he  was  desirous  cf  com- 
municating to  her,  and  for  wiieh  purpose  he 
bad  sought  her  in  the  garden  upon  the  evening 
previously. 

He  mused  for  a  moment,  and  then  fixing  hia 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  her,  he  esid  that  he 
wished  to  visit  Beachborough  Abbey,  to  ex- 
amine its  condition,  ard  receive  a  report 
respecting  some  necessary  alterations  which 
were  required  ;  he  asked  her  if  she  bad  any 
hesitation  to  accompany  fcim. 

She  returned  hia  look  by  one  aa  steadfast, 
and  enswered : 

"tfo." 

"When  will  your  ladysMp  be  prepared  to 
attend  me?"  he  asked. 

Within  an  hour,  if  you  wish  it,"  ehe  replied, 
but  promptly. 

was  tinmd  ere  truck.  He,  to^ever,  made 
her  no  reply  beyond  telling  her  tba*,  at  the 
expiration  of  the  hour,  he  should  be  awaiting 
her. 

In  two  hours  from  that  time,  they  were  oj 
their  way  to  Beachborough. 

On  the  day  following  their  arrival,  the  Matt 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


159 


qma  sought  the  Mirchioness  in  her  chamber 
and  he  locked  the  door  behind  him ;  and  beg- 
ging Hr  to  }>ay  close  attention  to  all  he  sa;d, 
he  related  to  her  the  history  of  Fanny  Shelley 
as  it  hud  been  repealed  to  him  by  the  landlord 
of  the  True  Lover's  Knot,  and  tbe  etory  of  the 
child  aa  rela  ed  to  him  by  Dr.  Bird.  He  in- 
formed b«r  farther,  that  he  had  in  bis  possees- 
iou  a  miniature  of  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  when 
Viscount  Bertram,  and  tbat  ne  knew  it  fead 
belonged  to  her.  Bat,  strangely  enorgh,  he 
forgot  to  mention  the  envelope  of  wbite  satin 
and  tbe  lock  of  hair.  Hta  mind,  indeed, ^was 
too  much  engrossed  by  the  idea  of  an  intrigue 
being  \e%  carried  on  between  the  Earl  of 
BrackMgh  and  the  Marchioness.  He  said 
very  much  that  bore  upon  hia  own  suspicions, 
and  be  cilltd  upon  her,  now  that  she  was 
beneath  that  roof,  to  either  confess  her  guilty 
depravity,  or  disprove  the  terrible  imputation 
cast  upon  her. 

She  heard  him  coldly  and  calmly  to  the  end  ; 
and  tfaeii  she  lacoiioal/y  replied,  that  ehe  had 
listened  to  him  with  the  contempt  th*t  she 
entertained  for  the  meanness  which,  had  urged 
him  to  s*tk  for  falsehoods  amorg  tattling 
beersellers  and  drugmongers  ;  that  she  consid- 
ered is  r-eneath  her  digtity  to  return  him  any 
reply  further  than  ehe  wis  now  doicg,  and 
that,  under  any  and  all  ciicumatacces,  she 
defied  him. 

He,  white  with  vindictive  rage,  held  up  a 
key  to  her. 

"  You  and  your  maid  are  prisoners  in  this 
abbey,"  he  eaid  fiercely,  "  uniil  I  clear  up  thia 
mystery.  You  shall  eitber  remain  my  Msr- 
chioncts,  spot'ess,  and  of  untariiiahed  reputa- 
tion, or  I  w.ll  diacard  you  from  me  with 
loathing  and  disgust. 

He  quitted  the  room  hastily,  and  locked  the 
door. 

For  rearly  three  weeks,  Constance  was  kept 
•with  her  Braid,  Fane,  a  close  prisoner ;  and 
though  outwardly  she  appealed  Colm,  ehe  was 
almost  frenzied  in  her  mind,  because  she  be- 
lieved that  tbe  M»rquis  would  fearch  her 
private  cabinet  in  her  caambe*  in  London,  and 
that  there  be  would  find  the  original  certificate 
of  her  murisge  with  Bertram. 

Every  tffjrt  at  escape  appeared  hopelesa  ;  for 
the  Marquis  had  tiken  his  precautions  so  well, 
thas  only  hia  paid  people  were  in  cnetody  of 
the  chambers  which  contained  the  MarcDioB- 
esa,  and  they  thought  they  were  keeping 
guard  over  a  lunatic. 

Yet  Fane's  pretty  face,  and  just  one  kiss  cf 
her  eofc  cheek,  enabled  her  one  morning  to  get 
a  letter  for  warded  to  Nat  ;and  en  the  following 
night,  Nat  made  a  burglarious  entrance  iato 
the  abbey  by  means  of  skeleton  keys.  By  his 
aid,  tbe  Marchioness  acd  Fdine  escaped  from 
their  impiiioamert;  the  Eirl  of  Brackleigh 
being  ready  to  receive  the  Marchioness  under 
the  gloomy  shadow  of  ihe  abbfy  wal/'g". 

On  receiving  the  M  ircMone-a  in  his  arms, 
Bertram  urged  her  ardently  to  fly  *ith  hitn ; 
but  ehe  eaid  ehe  would  give  him  no  answer 
until  ene  bad  firtt  visited  Westchester  House  . 


she,  however,  intimated  that,  if  able  to  ecoure 
seme  important  papers  which  were  excreted  in 
a  place  known  only  to  herself,  she  would 
probably  join  her  fa  e  to  his,  and  with  him 
turn  her  back  on  England  forever. 

They  reached  London  in  safety,  and  there 
parted.  The  Marchioness  proceeded  to  West- 
chester  Houee,  which  she  entered  with  Fane, 
receiving  the  same  attention  as  uaual  from  the 
servants. 

She  hastened  to  her  suite  of  apartments,  and 


contained 
dit'ock- 


^         to  do. 
or  ehe  feared 


at  once  and  alone  to  the 
her  cabinet.  She,  toh«rj 
ed  and  the  key  removed,! 

In  her  despair,  she 
She  was  obliged  to  remain* 
that,  by  ordering  the  door  to  be  forced,  she 
should  cause  a  talk  and  commotion  in  the 
horee. 

The  pf  c*et  services  of  Nat  were  ajjfein  <s*P.ecl 
in  requisition,  after  some  cor  si iteration  by  her, 
through  Fane,  who  introduced  him  into  the 
house  surreptiiiously  ;  and  be,  after  exaiticicg 
the  1  ;ck,  promised  in  three  day  a  to  open  the 
door,  and  with  a  key,  too. 

Hagar  Lot,  who  in  the  interim  viewed  the 
Mircbioness,  became  acquainted  with,  IMs 
ficb  by  the  admission  of  toe  latter,  who  be- 
lieved that  Hagar,  who  seemed  to  have  the 
power  of  entering  the  house  whenever  ehe 
pleased,  could  enter  any  room  at  will.  This, 
however,  proved  a  feat  which  Hegar  could  not 
perform  ;  but  it  was  the  means  of  her  carrjiug 
out  a  purpose. 

Nat  kept  his  word  :  he  arrived  on  the  'bird 
night  wLb,  a  peculiarly-made  ekeleton-key ; 
wi'ch  which  be  unlocked  the  door. 

Tbe  Mirchionefs,  on  fir.ck-g  that  ehe  could 
obtain  admission  to  the  room,  dismissed  Fan*? 
acd  Nat,  and  commenced  and  continued  a 
long  search  for  her  marria^e-cer  iftcate 
While  thus  engaged,  she  fancied  the  heard  the 
fall  of  a  eeft  footstep  behind  her. 

She  turned  hastily,  and  beheld,  standing  not 
far  from  the  dcor,  a  young,  tall,  pale,  beaufiful 
girl,  whose  features  she  instantly  rtcog»ized  as 
tie  counterpart  of  her  own. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"  Soft  as  descendiag  wings  fell  the  calm  cf  the  hour  on 

her  spirit ; 
Something  wiih-n  her  said:  'At  length  thy  trials 

are  ( nded' ; 

And  with  light  in  her  looks,  she  entered  (he  ch am- 
ber." — LONGPEIWHT. 

When  F'oret  was  pushed  rather  than  usher- 
ed into  the  room  wnere  tbe  Marchioness  was 
standing,  the  litter  had  been  engaged  for 
more  than  two  hours  in  searching  for  what  she 
could  cot  find. 

,  At  fir*t  she  made  a  hurried  investigation  of 
|he  contents  of  her  cabinet  without  *uce€as. 
She  made  a  second,  a  third,  each  beirg  per- 
formed nita  a  kind  of  wild  rapidity,  but 
vui  ly. 

Fully  conpcioua  of  tie  importance  of  PCCTJT- 
icg  the  articles  for  which  she  was  looking  BO 
anxiously,  she  made  a  call  upon  her  courage, 


100 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


her  firmness,  and  the  determination  which 
ebe  naturally  possessed,  but  waioh  a  ioog- 
con  inuei  uien'ftl  struggle  had  greatly  weak- 
ened, auJ  reoooameacBd  ber  search  coolly  and 
cwefdll  y.  N  >t  a  piece  of  folded  paper  passed 
her  unopened,  or  if  it  contained  wri  ing,  un- 
read ;  nosadrairer  or  secret  place  in  the  Cibi- 
ne«;  was  permitted  to  escape  her  unexarnined, 
end  when,  wicii  a  einkiug  heart  and  drooping 
epirit,  she  became  convinced  that  the  objects 
of  her  search  were  no  longer  ia  the  place*  in 
i  which  she  w^^|re  that  she  had  deposited 
,  them,  she  pll  ^&*  *°  °Pea  an<^  examine 
other  drawafl  Bfck?>  6n<1  FPIC»=?'  proba- 
ble and  iiLp^B  MsW  to  arrive  u1,  the  com 
plete  and  terWil^maijty  thit  what  s*ie  was 
hunting  far  had  all  bsen  abstracted  .  the  min- 
iature, the  little  look  of  hair,  and  the  stolen 
marriage- register. 

|  It  was  as  the  moment  that  this  horrifying 
v  conviction  w*3  forcing  itself  upon  her  niiad 
th  it  she  heard  a  footstep  behind  her,  and  sim- 
ultaneously felt  a  presentiment  that  it  W43  tbe 
M  irqais  ;  but,  turning,  beheld  instead  a  young 
girl,  call,  fair,  delicate,  and  cuiiouely  like  her- 

e«lr. 

;  Yet  she  was  a  stranger ;  and  to  see  a  stranger 
'  in  such  a  pl°ce,  and  at  euch.  a  moment,  was  a 
I  marvel,  which,  for  an  instant,  bewildered  ber. 

Sie  drew  herself  up  with  qaesn-like  majesty, 
!  and  a  waited  an  explanation  of  tais  extraordi- 
J  aary  intrusion. 

Whih  she  dil  e<\  her  eyei  were  fastened 
|  upon  the  young  girl  s  facs,  aud  her  mind  ran 
j  about  wish  ber  in  a  curious,  chaotic,  con 
j fused  way.  Tiie  features  were  strange,  and 

yet  familiar — they  were  unknown  to  her,  .and 
'  yet  she  fancied  that  she  b/id  seen  them  every 

\&&7. 

Mixed  up  with  the  perusal  of  her  features, 
J  were  woodlmd  scen?s,  and  sequestered  places- 
|  flirting  faces,  the  dark  vhage  01 II  4gar  Lot  ttie 
1  ghastly  cou  arenas ce — preity,  paliiJ,  onj  care, 
:  wsrn — of  F<mny  Shelley,  whose  spectsral,  in- 
!  ploring  eyes  were  seldom  absent  from  her 
•vUiaa;  there  were  sounds  and  ucisea  cf  crits 
\  and  shouts  in  her  ears,  of  a  btll  elowly  boom 
ing,  and  of  the  ru  jhicg  of  an  exciced  and  eagtr 
multitude:  eights  and  sounds  wmch  rose  un- 
!  bidden,  as  though  they  were  EO  miny  phantom 
^fluojgestions  offering  themselves,  BO  that  she 
;  migat,  by  their  aid,  be  able  to  discover  who  it, 
I  -wag  who  stood  before  her. 

Not  less  cljee,  eager,  and  anxioua,  was  the 
-toe-uiul  of  the  face  of  the  Marcnioness  by 
jfjunt. 

j  Her  heart  seemed  to  have  momentarily 
;etayed  its  beating,  and  an  equally  wilJ  throng 
!of  soundaand  sigats  rus'aej  through  her  bruin 
land  mental  vision,  as  she  gazed  on  the  beauti 
j£ul  and  haughty  countenance  before  her. 

To  her  eyea  the  face  of  the  Mirchionecs  wae 
familiar  as  her  own— familiar,  because  she  had 
often  dreamed  of  euch  a  f^ce  even  in  her  caild- 
hood ;  and  %sicce  she  had  seen  one  closely  re 
eembiingit  on  the  Cup-day  at  Ascot  Ktces. 
every  incident  of  which  was  strongly  imprimeo 
on  her  memory.  Ii  waa  t'ae  f.'ioe  of  the  proud 


lady  who  bad  tossed  her  a  sovereign,  and  whose 
icorntul  uvtttiuy  .t  of  ner  had  cost  her  BO  many 


And  this  waa  the  woman  whom  she  was  to 
claim  as  a  parent.  A  creature  behind  whose 
mask  of  beauty,  purity,  and  high  sUtion,  she 
knew  not  ho«r  much  of  sin,  of  shame,  and  crime, 
was  concealed. 

Bat  beneatk  the  high  white  brow,  she  saw 
that  the  beautiful  eyes  were  sunken  and  un- 
naturally bright;  the  cheek  was  l  jiu.  and 
round  the  mouth  were  lines  traced  only  by  toe 
moat  bitter  mentil  suffering. 

This  refltction  appealed  to  her  warmest  and 
tendered  eymptrfh?,  for  she  had  herself  feuffer- 
ed  so  deeply.  And  she  felt  that  her  firmness, 
ber  resolution  to  be  Cilm,  cold,  and  d  unified, 
were  giving  way  rapidly.  Instinctive  jy,  eke 
removed  her  t>onnet,  so  that  ber  fair,  long, 
cu  ling  tresses  full  unrestrained  upon  hei 
shoulders. 

Yet  more  amazad  at  this  movemest,  the 
M  trchionei'S,  waose  heart  was  be«tiut<  wildly, 
a  ad  whose  perturbed  feedags  at  thu  unlooked- 
for  apparition  were  incomprehensible,  snid  in 
a  low,  bew;idered  tone  . 

*'  Whit  ia  the  meaning  of  this  strange  in- 
trusion? Who  ere  you  ?'r 

Fiorct  fed  upon  ber  knees  at  her  feet,  and 
clutching  at  her  dress,  tu-rned  herficeuptc 
her,  and  wiih  s'reaining  eyes  tj  icul^ted,  in  • 
low,  soft,  quivering  voice,  which  no  descriptioB 
coul  I  reaiizo  : 

"Mji-her!"' 

With  a  wild,  frantic  screech,  the  Marchion- 
ess tore  her  dread  ircm  the  bands  of  Fiorer,  and 
stay  gerel  to  a  settee,  and  sink  upon  it  hali 


Upon  her  kn*  es,  Floret  followed  ber,  saying, 
still  ii  piteous,  beseeching  tones  : 

'•  Mj-ufr,  I  am  your  caiid.  Mother,  do  no! 
disowrn  me,  do  not  discard  me.  la  mercy,  in 
pity,  do  not  deny  me.  In  the  name  of  Him 
who  made  you  and  all  the  wot^d,  be  mvrsifaJ 
*o  me,  as  you  hope  hereafter  for  mercy  from 
Him!" 

Tae  Mirchionesaa  pressed  ber  bands  on  her 
temple,  before  her  eyes,  over  her  tars;  she 
rose  up  and  flung  Floret  from  her,  and  rushed 
to  a  bell  ;  but  agtin  Floret  clung  to  her,  cry- 
ing: 

'•Spurn  me  not,  lam  your  child!  One 
word,  Eoo*oer!  one  word  to  me!" 

T-ie  MirchioDesa  turned  to  her,  with  a  face 
ghtatly,  paiiie-  stricken,  maddened  ia  its  ex- 
pression. With  glaring  ejea  she  thrust  a!;  her, 
and  cried,  ia  hoarse,  almost  iaartioul  ve  tones  : 

"Begone!  quit  my  eight!  have  me!  This 
1*3  some  infamous  plot  hatched  against  me. 
Begone  !  brat,  wretch,  or  I  will  curse  you  ! 
Begone,  beggar  !" 

Wish  a  cry  of  anguish,  of  acu?e  misery, 
Floret  rose  up. 

She,  too,  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  tem- 
ples, before  her  eyes,  twisted  ber  wrists  about 
ber  neck,  and  writhed  in  a  paroxysm  of  mortal 
agony. 

Then  she  flung  ber  bands  down  and  clenched 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


161 


them,  and  she  drew  her  figure  up  to  her  full 
height. 

*•  Woman!"  she  cried,  with  a  quivering, 
eoorofal,  bitter  expression,  which  maJe  the 
Marchioness,  whose  hand  was  again  upon  the 
bell,  etirt  and  pause,  "  woman !  you  shall 
hear  me!  I  came  here  to  implore  justice  :  I  , 
remain  here  now  to  demand  it  I" 

The  lips  of  the  Mircmoness  moved,  and  she  . 
muttered  something  inaudible. 

"lock  upon  me,"  continued  Floret,  speak-  ' 
ing  wkh  a  firmness,  clearness,  and  energy  which  | 
contrasted  remarkably  with  her  previous  sofc- 
n€B8  and  tenderness  ;  "  examine  my  features, 
scrutinize  them  well,  and  when  you  have  done 
BO,  tell  me  ifyou  know  them." 

Again  the  Marchioness  would  have  spoken, 
and  nave  made  aa  impi'ienfc  gesture  for  her  to 
quit  the  apartment,  but  lipa  and  tongue  both 
seemed  paralyzed. 

"Tell  me,"  continued  Floret,  sternly, "if 
yeu  recognize  ia  them  the  features  of  your  de- 
pendent, murdered  foster-sister,  Fanny  Shel- 
ley ?  Do  they  resemble  them?  Speak  with- 
out equivocation— am  I  like  Fanny  Bhelty  so 
much  as  to  be  her  child  ?  M*rk  me,  woman !" 
ehe  cried,  pointing  solemnly  upward;  "Al- 
mighty God  is  looking  down  upon  us !  In  Hi* 
presence  I  call  upon  you  to  answer  me  truly — 
am  1  Fanny  Shelley's  child?" 

The  Marchioness  cowered  and  bowed  h«r 
head.  Sae  could  nob,  in  the  face  of  God,  tell 
a  lie  so  tremendous. 

"  You  are  silent — you  shrink— you  know 
that  it  is  fake!1'  pursued  Floret,  speaking 
with  a7i  intense  energy.  •'  And  to  whom  did 
you  willful  ly  and  deliberately  repeat  that  false- 
hood?— my  father,  and  your  husband,  the 
Earl  of  Braokleigh !" 

The  Marchioness  gazed  at  her  aghast,  but 
by  a  mighty  effort  she  endeavored  to  recall 
her  pelf-commayd,  and  gasping  for  breath,  she 
murmured,  hurek'ly  : 

*•  How  dare  you  utter  the  wild,  incoherent 
assertions  to  me?  Begone!  I  know  you 
net?" 

"I  dare  do  this,  and  more;  for  you  disown 
me — I,  wSo  have  been  so  lang  and  so  hope- 
lessly the  victim  of  your  cruelty — and  I  will 
not  go!"  resumed  Floret,  excitedly.  "  Listen 
to  me  ;  know  me  far  taat  child  whom  you  saw 
at  Beachbcrongh,  a  poor,  pauper  gi'l;  know 
me  for  than  child  whom  you  saw  playir?g  the 
part  of  a  miserable  beggar  upon  a  raee  course, 
when  yon  were  seated  in  a  carriage  surround- 
ed by  toe  title  i  and  the  noble,  the  worshiped 
and  bon>red  above  those  tj  wnooi  such  horn 
ogeia  pud  ;  k  10 *  me  for  thai  s-ioie  child  who 
;iw3  ^e«Q  icired  by  your  ^ircc-.ions  undtr  the 
tender  uu^pic^s  of  II  igar  Lot,  the  weird  gip 
•6y,  who  n  ubiag  jouetecrets  to  work  her  own 
«n<k—  who  Lias  yau  ia  her  power — and  will 
unless  I,  the  «  e^pne^,  disowned  outcast,  step 
in  t  >  save  y  ou  destroy  you  ;  know  me  ibr  that 
person  who,  xvh'le  eheicered  for  a  time  with 
tenderi. ess  wild  compassion  by  tbe  Countessof 
UncVeigh,  WJB  informed  by  the  E*rl,  wkh 
and  cruelty,  xmuer  your  inspira- 


tion, that  your  foster-sister  was  deceived  and, 
betrayed  by  a  man  of  high  birth — thai  a  child 
wu*  born— and  that  I  was  that  child!  Do 
you  know  me  cow  ?" 

S  .e  Btood  with  her  form  erect,  and  with  h«r ' 
head  elevated,  as.  with  a  proud  dignity,  she  ! 
uttered  the  last  interrogatory. 

Tne  Marohionees,  from  the  first,  had  been  ^ 
completely  overwhelmed  by  what  she  heard 
from  Floret's  lips.  It  was  not  alone  that  she 
was  thunders  ricken  by  heivmost  unexpected 
appearance,  but  a  thousajri  feaja  and  horrible 
anticipations  rushed  tbror^bbeu  mind.  If  the 
Countess  of  Brackki^h-bnew'  all,  the  world 
would  know  all.  The  Marquis  would  hear  her 
story — perhaps  had  heard  it— and,  for  aught 
she  knew,  was  without  now,  awaiting  the  re-  ' 
suit  of  tills  girl'd  interview  with  her.  Withal, 
there  was  a  wild  tugging  at  her  heart  to  catch 
this  intruder  to  her  breatt,  acknowledge  her, 
reveal  all  to  her,  but  implore  her  to  keep  her 
secret. 

Yet.  how  was  it  to  fee  kept  The  world 
would  know  of  her  existence  through  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh ;  and,  if  she  were 
we*ik  enough  to  deny  her  own  legitimacy,  the 
world  would  insist  upon  it  for  her  ;  inquiries 
would  be  made,  and  the  felon's  dock  would 
yawn  to  receive  her ! 

What  wis  she  to  do  but  brave  it  out  as  long 
as  she  could,  and  escape  from  England  before 
the  storm  burst !  She  remained  for  some  time 
silent  afcer  Floret  had  paused,  revolving  all 
these  thoughts  in  her  distracted  brain.  She 
ea*,  however,  now  that  her  first  be  wilder  mest 
and  confusion  had  in  some  small  degree  sub- 
sided, that  it  would  be  madness  to  summon 
her  servants  and  create  a  scene,  which  would 
only  acd  to  the  mischief  already  brewing,  and 
perhaps  precipitate  an  unfavorable  denoue- 
ment. 

Sbe,  therefore,  with  an  another  powerful  ef- 
fort to  subduo  her  perturbation,  aed  appear 
cold  and  immovable,  turned  slowly  to  Floret, 
but  she  <?id  not  fix  her  eyes  upon  her  face.  j 
"  I  know  you  only  for  the  person  you  de- 
clare \  oar«eif  to  be,  excepting  that  adaucious 
declaration  of  being  allied  to  me,"  she  ex- 
claimed, addressing  her  in  low,  measured, 
feigi  1  tones ;  *'  but  even  that  does  not  give 
^ou  the  iri^ht  to  obtrude  yourself  upon  me. : 
I  can  hardly  imagine  that  you  have  taken  this 
step  unaided,  nor  can  I  suppose  that  the  de- 
sign of  entering  this  place  surreptitiously, 
and  urging  the  most  monstrous  claim  ever 
conceived  upon  me,  originated  with  you.  I 
micht  summon  my  servants  and  have  you  ex- 
pelled, and  even  consigned  to  the  custody  of 
the  poiic<>,  but  I  have  compassion  on  your  ' 
youth  and  your  eer  ;  and  I  believe  that  you  are 
the  child  of  Shelley,  who  was  to  me,  I  am  al-  ' 
ways  ready  to  acknowle-^*,  a  faithful  and  de- 
vo  ed  attendant.  I  therefore  spare  you  the 
ignominy  of  forcible  expulsion ;  and  2  may 
feel  disposed,  perhaps,  when  you  have  eome 
proper  notion  of  the  wildness  of  your  present 
conduct,  to  promote  your  interests  in  some 
way,  BO  that  you  may  live  ia  a  decent  and 


162 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


respectable  manner,  and  not  descend  to  such 
artifices  as  these,  in  the  hope  to  wring  from 
me  some  paltry  hush-money." 

A  groan,  rather  than  a  sob,  escaped  from 
Floret's  lips.  __ 

"Reflect,"  added  the  Marchioness,  fancying 
for  the  moment  that  «he  had  made  an  impres- 
sion upon  her  mind  favorable  to  her  views, 
"  and  you  will  see  the  advantage  of  communi- 
cating to  me  the  names  of  the  persons  who 
instigated  you  to  taJu  the  mad  and  wicked 
etep  of  to-night" 

j  "  If  yonr  heart  were  not  of  adamant  yon 
would  never  have  consigned  me  to  the  fate  you 
have,"  responded  Floret,  with  deep  emotion. 
, "  You  would  not  see  me  stand  thus  before  you 
and  address  me  in  such  heartless  terms — nay, 
you  would  not  have  committed  one  single  deed 
of  the  many  which  now  lay  heavy  upon  your 
soul.  Poor,  murdered  Fanny  Shelley  was 
your  faithful,  devoted  attendent;  you  ac- 
knowledge that,  flhe  sacrificed  her  life  for 
you— vou  must  feel  that,  although  you  are 
justly  not  responsible  for  her  death ;  and  in 
reward  for  her  faithful  devotion — assuming 
that  I  am  her  child—  how  did  yon  act  toward 
me  ?  You  suffered  me  to  remain  a  dependent 
for  existence  upon  some  poor  villagers.  You 
caused  me  to  be  kidnapped  by  a  gipsy,  by 
whom  I  was  conveyed  to  a  miserable,  squalid 
den,  and  doomed  to  pass  my  young  life  a  shoe- 
less, wandering  beggar.  Your  imagination, 
moving  in  high  life  as  you  have  been,  petted 
and  pampered,  can  form  no  conception  of  the 
miseries  I  have  been  compelled  to  endure  by 
you  ;  and  for  what  ? — not  that  I  WPS  the  child 
of  poor  Shelley,  but  that  I  was  your  child,  the 
unacknowledged  offspring  of  a  secret  marriage 
between  you  and  Viecount  Bertram — " 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  these  preposterous  in- 
ventions," interposed  the  Marchioness,  furi- 
ously. 

"  But  you  must,  Madam ;  and  you  must 
listen  to  them  from  me,"  interrupted  Floret, 
in  her  turn. 

She  spoke  with  such  firm  determination, 
that  the  Marchioness  felt  compelled  to  remain 
silent. 

"  It  is  better  that  they  should  fall  like  blis- 
tering hail  upon  your  ears  from  my  lips,  than 
they  should  be  thundered  into  them  from  the 
mouths  of  others.  What  I  am  about  to  say 
to  you,  if  you  refuse  to  hear,  I  may  reveal  to 
others.  My  honor  and  my  position  cannot 
suffer ;  yours  must.  I  may  live  in  future 
humbly,  but,  at  least,  I  shall  live  in  honor. 
Now,  mark  me,  Madam ;  I  have  not  much 
to  eay  to  you,  but  the  little  shall  be  to  the  pur- 

re,  and  if  you  decline  to  acknowledge  me 
whom  I  am  when  I  have  ended.  I  will  take 
my  way  and  you  will  take  yours.  We  shall  meet 
again  at  last,  that  I  feel,  but  under  less  hap- 
pier auspices  than  might  have  been  the  case 
had  you  treated  me  with  more  womanly  con- 
sideration. You  deny  your  marriage,  Madam, 
with  the  Viscount  Bertram.  Are  you  prepared 
to  deny  that  you  went  to  Brighton  some  years 
back  alone ;  that  you  proceeded  alone  to  St. 


Mary's  Church,  Hove  ;  that  you  inquired  of 
the  clerk  of  that  church  for  the  book  of  the 
register  of  marriages — " 

"My  God!'  involuntarily  ejaculated  the 
Marc  uioness. 

4  That  you  inspected  the  book  in  the  ab- 
sence of  the  clerk,"  pursued  Floret,  with 
marked  emphasis  ;  "  that  you  extracted  a  leaf 
containing  one  of  the  entries ;  and  that  you 
then  returned  to  Baby  Hall?" 

She  paused ;  the  Marchioness  looked  at  her 
with  a  bewildered  aspect.  She  only  too  well 
remembered  that  she  hadvieited  Brighton, 
but  she  remembered  that  she  had  gone  there 
alone,  and  had  concealed  from  every  person 
breathing  what  she  did  upon  that  occasion. 
How  could  this  girl  know  anything  of  what 
bad  occurred?  Yet  she  had  described  what 
bad  taken  place  accurately.  She  gazed  stead- 
fastly at  her. 

'This  is  mere  assertion,"  she  sail,  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  I  have  that  abstracted  leaf  In  my  possjw- 

m,"  retorted  Floret,  emphatically.  "  It  is 
right  that  yon  should  know  with  ho"w  much  of 
my  history  I  am  acquainted." 

"  So,  then,  this  register  had  been  stolen  from 
her  escritoir —  and  by  whom  ? 

Her  thoughts  instantly  reverted  to  Hagar 
Lot :  probably  she  had  employed  some  gipsy 
to  watch  her,  and  he  might  have  followed  her 
to  Brighton.  This  was  her  rapid  impression, 
and  like  those  of  her  sex,  being  instinctive,  it 
was  quite  near  enough  to  the  truth.  Then  a 
thought  struck  her,  and  she  said,  instantly, 
with  a  forced  species  of  triumphant  smile  : 

"  The  scheme  has  been  cleverly  concocted  ; 
but  you  prove  too  much.  Had  I  committed 
the  act  with  which  you  have  charged  me,  that 
leaf  of  the  register  would  have  been  in  my  pos- 
session, not  yours." 

"  It  was  in  your  possession,  Madam,"  re- 
plied Floret,  coldly  ;  "  but  it  is  now  properly 
in  mine,  for  it  wiU  help  to  prove  that  I  am — " 

"  And  assist  to  ruin  me  if  you  succeed  in  es- 
tablishing yourself  to  be  the  offspring  of  that 
marriage, "observed  the  Marchioness, in  a  half 
soliloquy.  Then  she  added,  impatiently  and 
angrily,  "  I  wonder  that  I  have  listened  to  you 
so  long — I,  however,  command  you  now  to  re- 
tire, or—" 

"  You  have  done  me  injury  enough,"  inter- 
rupted Floret,  quickly  ;  "  you  can  hardly  de- 
sire to  add  to  the  long  list." 

She  folded  her  hands  across  her  bosom,  and 
added,  slowly  and  sorrowfully  : 

"  I  will  leave  you,  Madam,  with  much  un- 
said that  I  had  intended  to  say  ;  it  is,  perhaps, 
as  well  as  it  is.  The  voice  of  Nature  has  whis- 
pered to  me  even  while  we  have  been  speaking. 
I  could  have  forgiven  all  that  has  passed,  all 
that  I  have  barne— have  met  all  that  I  may 
have  to  bear  with  fortitude  and  resignation. 
I  would  have  preserved  your  secret  even  to 
my  own  destruction,  if  you  had  but  eaid  one 
kind  word  to  me,  bestowed  upon  me  one  ten- 
der look—had  pressed  your  lip  to  mine  only 
once,  and  whispered  in  my  ear '  thou  art  nij 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL.1 


child  I*  You  have  acknowledged  not  one  urg- 
ing of  even  common  humanity  ;  and  BO  I  take 
my  departure  from  you,  resolved  to  devote  my 
energies  to  the  taa£  which  you  denounce.  I 
yearned  only  when  I  entered  here  that  you 
should  know  me,  that  I  might  call  you  mother, 
and  you  confess  me — if  only  to  myself — to  be 
your  child ;  but  now  the  world  shall  know  me 
for  whom  I  am,  and — " 

At  this  moment,  Fane,  the  Marchioness's 
attendant,  rushed  into  the  room,  and  exclaim- 
ed, hurriedly : 

"  My  Lady !  my  Lady !  the  Marquis  is  ap- 
proaching, my  Lady !" 

She  was  accompanied  by  Hagar  Lot,  who, 
at  the  same  moment,  caught  Floret  by  the 
wrisfc.  and  said  to  her : 

"You  must  accompany  me!" 

Floret  threw  off  her  hand  haughtily;  and 
then,  forgetting  all  she  had  just  uttered,  ran  to 
the  Marchiones?.  With  a  wild  gesture  she 
flung  herself  at  her  feet : 

"One  word!"  she  said,  in  half-choked  ac- 
cents. "  One  word — one  little  word !" 

The  Marchioness  remained  motionless, 
though  her  lips  moved  quickly,  and  her  bosom 
heaved  and  fell  with  violent  rapidity,  betray- 
ing how  deep  was  her  inward  emotion. 

"Do  not  drive  me  from  you  without  a 
word I"  urged  Floret,  wildly.  "  One  little  word 
will  seal  my  lips  forever  ;  though  it  forces  me 
to  sacrifice  everything  that  makes  life  EO  love- 
ly to  the  young !" 

But  the  Marchioness  stood  immovable. 

Fane  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and,  in  a  low 
voice,  muttered : 

"  We  are  lost !" 

Floret  turned  her  face  to  the  doorway,  and 
beheld  standing  in  it  the  Marquis  of  West- 
ch  ester. 

The  room  swam  round  with  her,  and  ahe 
saw  no  more. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

11  She  look'd  on  many  a  face  with  vacant  eye, 
On  many  a  token  v.  ithout  knowing  what ; 
She  saw  them  watch  her,  without  knowing  why, 

And  reck'd  not  who  around  her  pillow  sat ; 
Not  speechless,  though  she  tpoke  not ;  n  t  a  sigh 

RelievM  her  thoughts  ;  dull  silence  and  quick  chat 
Wefe  tried  in  vain  by  whose  who  seryed— she  gave 
No  sign,  sava  breath,  of  having  left  the  prrave." 

— BYSOX. 

The  situation,  when  the  Marquis  of  West- 
Chester  made  his  appearance  at  the  door  of 
the  Marchioness's  apartmedt,  was  one  of  pro- 
found embarrassment  to  every  one  present 
who  had  their  senses  about  them. 

The  Marquis,  who  had  entered  the  house  by 
a  side  and  private  entrance,  was  unconscious 
of  the  arrival  of  the  Marchioness  and  her  maid 
in  London,  and  had  been  observed  stealthily 
approaching  the  former's  apartments  by  Fane, 
wko  promptly  rusbed  to  her  mistress  to  ac- 
quaint her  with  hia  Doming.  His  intention 
was  to  prosecute  a  similar  search  to  that  in 
which  the  Marchioness  had  been  engaged,  and 
he  was  not  a  little  disconcerted  on  arriviDg  at 
the  door  of  the  apartment  to  find  it  open 


readily  to  his  touch,  and  to  discover  himself 
almost  at  the  same  moment  likely  to  be  the 
hero  of  a  scene. 

He  was  absolutely  bewildered  at  seeing  be- 
fore him  the  Marchioness  and  Fane,  both  of 
whom  he  believed  to  be  in  close  custody  at 
Beachborongh ;  but  his  surprised  eyes  were 
attracted  almost  as  immediately  by  the  form 
of  a  young  girl  in  a  swoon  being  snatched,  as 
it  were,  from  the  floor  by  a  womam,  whose 
dark  face  and  darker  eyes  and  hair  proclaim- 
ed her  to  be  one  of  a  race  whom  he  held  in  the 
greatest  abhorrence. 

The  Marchioness  was  confounded  by  his 
presence,  for  before  her,  senseleps,  was  her  un- 
acknowledged daughter — inquiries  respecting 
whom  by  the  Marquis  must,  she  knew,  prove 
fatal  to  her.  Fane's  embarrassment  may  be 
easily  conceived,  while  Hagar  Loi  was  both 
disconcerted  by  the  presence  of  the  Marquis, 
who  had  never  before  eeen  her  in  his  mansion, 
and  disturbed  by  the  marring  of  the  object  for 
which  she  had  brought  Floret  thither.  Sug- 
gestions of  a  deadly  description,  which  she  had 
intended  to  have  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the 
Marchioness,  were  rendered  unavailable  by 
the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  the  Marquis, 
and  she  instinctively  felt  that  it  would  be  more 
than  awkward  to  have  to  offer  an  explanation 
to  him  of  her  presence  there,  if  he  called  upon 
her  to  do  so. 

She  was  the  first,  however,  to  recover  her 
presence  of  mind.  She  stooped  over  Floret's 
inanimate  form,  shrouded  her  face  with  a  pait 
of  her  cloak,  and  lifting  her  up  with  no  com- 
mon exertion  of  strength,  she  glided  into  an 
inner  apartment,  and  thence  by  a  door  into  a 
corridor.  With  the  celerity  of  volition  of  the 
serpent,  and  with  as  noiseless  movement,  she 
descended  with  her  still  senseless  burden  into 
the  garden,  leaving  the  Marchioness  to  give 
the  explanations  he  might  require  in  any 
shape  she  coul£  best  at  the  moment  devise. 
She  hurried  with  Floret,  who  was  yet  insensi- 
ble, to  the  almost  impenetrable  darkness  of 
the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  trees.  She  laid  her 
carefully  upon  the  cool  grass,  and  returned 
swiftly  to  lock  the  door  by  which  she  had 
quitted  the  house,  the  key  of  which  the  Mar- 
chioness had  intrusted  to  her. 

On  her  return,  she  was  unable  to  find  Floret. 
She  stretched  her  hands  in  all  directions  over 
the  grass,  but  could  discover  no  trace  of  her ; 
she  called  her  by  name,  in  a  low,  soft  voice, 
but  received  no  answer.  She  searched  care- 
fully and  cautiously  in  every  direction,  but 
the  neighboring  church -bell  tolled  the  hour 
of  midnight,  and  she  had  failed  to  meet  with 
the  slightest  clue  which  would  guide  her  to  an 
opinion  as  to  what  had  become  of  her. 

So  sudden  had  been  Hagar's  departure  with 
Floret  that  she  had  disappeared  before  the 
Marquis  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  stop  her. 
Hagar,  however,  had  not  been  BO  quick  with 
the  disposition  of  her  cloak  over  Floret's  face 
but  that  the  Marquis  had  seen  it,  and  that 
with  an  emotion  which  almost  paralysed  him. 
Before  he  csuld  recover  himself,  Haxar  had 


104 


HA.GAR  LOT  ; 


hidden  it  ancLquittrd  tue~roorn.  He  made  a 
movement' aa  though  he  would  rush  afcer  her, 
but  the  Marchioness  placed  herself  before  him. 

"  Stand  out  of  my  way,  woman,"  he  cried  pas- 
sionately, as  he  rai3ed  his  hand,  "  or'* — 

Her  clear,  bright  blue  eye  fastened  itself 
upon  hi?,  as,  beside  himself  with  fury,  he  made 
that  imad  gesture.  It  sparkled  so  brilliantly 
that  it  dazzled  him,  it  restored  him  at  once  to 
a  consciousness  of  the  extraordinary  impropri- 
ety of  w  hie  Si  he  was  about  to  be  guilty,  and  he 
absolu'ely  shuddered  as  a  perception  of  the 
debited  position  into  which  his  suspicions  of 
the  M  irchioness  and  her  treatment  of  him  were 
feurrymj*  him. 

S  jo  with  a  stern  dignity  of  manner,  turned 
from  him  to  Fane,  and  said  to  her : 

'•  Quit  the  room!" 

Fane  courteeied  low  and  slunk  out  of  the 
apartmtat  only  tco  glad  to  getaway. 

At  eoon  as  she  was  gone,  the  Marchioness  ad- 
drecaed  tae  Marquis,  who  was  yet  standing 
with  an  irresolute  manner  before  her,  and  eaid, 
in  a  low,  deliberate  voice,  and  yet  BO  fail  of 
emo  ion  that  every  note  quivered  as  she  utter- 
ed it: 

"  You  wooed  me  like  a  sycophant.  You  took 
me  a<  a  virtuoso  secures  a  rarity.  You  were 
aot  particular  respecting  the  terms,  so  that 
you  made  me  yours— that  ie,  yours  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  and  not  in  fict.  You  were  con- 
tent to  phlm  a  lie  on  the  credulity  of  society, 
and  assume  a  credit  which  never  has  been 
years  and  tever  will  be  yours  were  yen  to  be 
crowded  Emperor  cf  the  Uuiveree  and  to  live 
for  tn  eternity.  You  have  been  mean  enough 
to  I  e  cuutent  with  the  phantom  of  a  woman, 
and  LOW  you  Reek  to  tyrannize  over  the  realifcy, 
as  if  you  had  a  legal  claim  to  do  so.  You 
have  iaf  ultfd  me  by  making  me  a  prisoner  in 
my  own  house;  nr.ne,  Mirquiaof  Westcbebter 
— for  Beackbcrough  Abbey,  settled  solely  up- 
on ice,  without  leaving  you  a  right,  a  title,  or 
ciiioa  u>on  it,  was  not  a  place  in  which  you 
oouid  exercise  even  the  poor  authority  of  a 
menial.  You  have  degraded  me  before  the 
eyes  of  your  base  tools,  upon  the  strength  of  a 
vile  suspicion.  Lord  Westchester,  from  the 
firet  jou  have  commenced  the  irreconcilable 
strife  which  has  now  reached  such  formidable 
proportions  between  us.  You  have  taken  the 
luiiidtive,  and  you  have  dared  to  epeak  to  me, 
to  act  to  me,  as  though  every  degrading  and 
disgustiog  impression  oiiginated  by  «he  pruri- 
ent sub  leties  of  a  depraved  mind,  which  has 
presented  itself  to  you,  had  been  and  is  true 
You  have  not  waitel  to  prove  my  guilfc,  if 
guilty  am,  or  to  aecertain  beyond  doubt  my 
ia&ocencb.  You  have  assumed  the  first,  and 
have  decided  that  the  la  ter  must  be  impossi 
bit-.  Lord  Westchester,  it  is  hard  to  be 
wrongly  euspected  ;  it  is  harder  B  ill  to  be 
trta  (td  as  though  suspicions  were  ficta  ;  it  in 
yet  harder  to  endure  the  indignity  cf  such 
suspicions,  which  LO  insult  can  surprs?,  if 
equal,  ia  magnitude.  I  c  moot  endure  it.  I 
tfili  nor..  Toe  torture  ic  iufi'C  s  upon  me 
ia  inconceivable  by  y,n.  Dot  pain  for  pain! 


I  will  retaliate  with  the  weapons  which  you 
have  yourself  placed  in  my  hands.  You  shall 
not  suspect  me  in  vain.  When  a  woman  be* 
comes  reckless  of  her  own  self-respect  and  re- 
gardless  of  the  honor  of  her  husband,  the 
prDfligacy  of  a  case-hardened  libertine  is  pari- 
ty beside  her  depravity.  You  have  reproaeh- 
ed  me  with  iniquity.  "I  will  be  iniquitous.  I 
courted  the  possession  of  your  coronet,  and  I 
made  many  bitter  sacrifices  to  obtain  it ;  einee 
ifc  has  been  placed  upon  my  brow,  slander  dar- 
ed not  approach  me  with  its  venomous  breath. 
Some  of  your  most  cherished  friends  who  have 
sought  to  debase  me,  and  to  dishonor  you, 
have  proclaimed  the  immaculatenees  of  your 
honor  through  me,  at  the  expense  of  acknowl- 
edging their  own  looseness  of  morality.  The 
strongest  partisans  of  prudery  elevated  me  to 
their  standard  of  spotless  purity.  For  what 
have  I  won  this  distinction— to^be  outraged  by 
you  with  infamous  suspicions  and  to  the  most 
degrading  treatment.  I  have  worn  your  cir- 
clet of  peerage  as  a  Diana  ;  it  shall  henceforth 
deck  my  forehead  as  a  Lais.  I  will  drag  it 
through  the  elimy  froth  that  bubbles  on  the 
festering  lips  of  corrupt  talkers.  I  will  trail  ifc 
through  such  path?  of  shameful  lewdness  that 
the  pure  sbail  shudder  at  its  approach,  and  the 
wanton  blush  as  she  shrinks  abashed  in  ita 
presence — " 

"  Madwoman  I"  cried  the  Marquis,  frantical- 
ly, alter  several  attempts  to  stay  the  voluble 
expression  of  hep  terrible  sentiments. 

"  Ay,  I  am  mad,"  she  cried,  shrilly  and 
wildly,  gradually  increasing  the  vehemence  of 
her  tone  in  her  fearful  excitement.  "I  am 
mad,  and  you  have  made  me  so.  I  know  that 
you  will  try  to  arrest  me  in  my  progress  tetho 
destruction  cf  your  name  and  of  ay  fame; 
but  you  shall  not  I  am  your  wife — that  is, 
in  the  eyes  of  tne  law,  so  long  as  it  pleases  me 
that  it  shall  be  so — and  that  ia  a  tie  which  you 
cannot  sunder  with  a  puff  of  wind.  Wiiat,  ia 
it  come  to  ttiis?  I,  who  sold  my  life,  my 
youth,  my  beauty  to  you  far  a  ring  of  fire, 
which  has  betn  consuming  my  brain  ever 
Bince  it  pressed  like  a  curse  upon  my  temples ! 
I — I — am  I  to  be  treated  like  a  slave,  taunted 
with  the  commission  of  a  filthy  sin,  to  be 
abused  like  a  meciil,  and  incarcerated  like  a 
felon  ?  I— 1 !  a  Plantagenet !— and  by  jwn,  a 
creature  who  01 1  hate,  I  loathe,  I  abhor ! — a 
wretcied  shadow,  a  mockery!— tke  meanest 
epitouue  of  a  man  that  ever  offended  my  eyes ! 
—a  braes  crown  hoveriag  over  an  empty  er- 
mined  robe;  a — ha!  ha! — a — the  chili  of  a 
hair- dreaeer  and  a  titled  mother!  a — ha!  ha! 
ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Soe  tossed  her  arms  madly  about  as  she 
went  into  a  fit  of  shrieking  hysterics,  sending 
forth  peal  alter  peal  of  piercing  screams,  un- 
til the  whole  household,  wor-dericg  end  af- 
frighted, eottred  her  chamber  and  beheld  her 
ddt-niDg  herself  wildly  about  on  the  floor, 
and  the  Marquis  standing  petrified  and  par*- 
IjZ'd. 

Tde  united  strsngth  of  eeveraj  frmale  do- 
mesuoa  could  barely  restrain  the  Msro&ioneefr 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


165 


from  inflicting  upon  herself  serious  injuries, 
until  she  subsided  into  a  ooiivuieira  swoon, 
awful  to  look  upon. 

She  was  borne  instantly  to  her  chamber  by 
her  maids,  and  medical  assistance  was  instant 
]y  summoned. 

The  Marquis,  at  the  same  time,  staggered, 
faint  and  breathless,  to  his  study,  where,  an 
hour  afterward,  his  valet  discovered  him 
Btre'ched  upon  the  carpet,  with  every  sign 
of  death  imprinted  upon  his  pallid,  drawn 
features. 

Daring  the  time  this  terrible  scene  was 
being  enacted,  Floret  was  borne,  in  the  careful 
arms  of  Liper  Leper,  fron  the  spot  where 
Hagar  Lot  had  placed  her,  to  one  which  was 
beyond  the  precincts  of  the  Marquis's  grounds. 

In  the  interval  which  elapsed  between  his 
meeting  with  Floret  at  the  abode  of  Daddy 
Windy  and  this  night,  he  had  contrived  to  as- 
certain that  the  house  of  the  Earl  of  Brack- 
leigh  was  the  one  which  Hflgar  Lot  had  so 
closely  watched,  and  he  haunted  it  like  a  sha- 
dow, watching  the  movements  of  the  Counters 
•wherever  she  went,  until,  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  upon  which  he  was  to  conduct  Floret 
to  an  interview  wi'h  her  mother,  he  followed 
her  to  a  house  in  Pimlico,  which  she  entered. 
From  an  upper  window  he  caught  sight  of  the 
face  of  Ida,  with  an  anxious  expression  upon 
it,  peering  out ;  and  he,  having  discovered  the 
object  of  his  search,  gave  up  further  attend- 
ance on  the  Countess,  and  proceeded  to  his  ap- 
pointment with  Floret. 

Ha  said  not  a  word  to  her  respecting  the 
discovery  he  had  made  ;  but  now  that  he  held 
her  senseless  in  his  arms,  he  made  up  his  mind 
what  he  would  do. 

The  fresh  air,  and  a  restorative  which  he 
administered,  soon  revived  Floret ;  but  before 
ehe  could  properly  collect  her  thoughts,  and 
know  in  whose  care  she  was,  or  remember  what 
had  happened,  he  had  engaged  a  cab  and 
placed  her  in  it,  mounting  the  box  with  the 
driver,  as  before. 

To  the  house  of  Mr.  Spencer  he  made  the 
man  drive  with  rapidity,  and  as  there  fortu- 
nately happened  to  be  no  impediments  in  their 
route,  they  very  soon  reached  their  destina- 
tion. 

While  the  vehicle  was  yet  proceeding,  Liper 
Leper  slipped  off  the  box,  and  ran  swiftly  on 
to  the  house,  and  rang  the  bell  sharply  and 
even  violently. 

Almost  the  next  instant,  the  cab  drove  up, 
but  simultaneously  the  door  of  Mrs.  Spencer's 
tenement  opened,  and  Bob  made  a  brisk  ap 
pearance,  closely  followed  by  Ida  and  Mrs. 
Spencer,  all  having  been  startled  by  the  loud 
peal  on  the  bell. 

Bob  butted  his  head  inside  the  cab,  and 
with  a  species  of  spasmodic  whoop,  he  gashed 
out: 

"  E  *h* !    I— I— think  so  1" 

How  Floret  got  out,  or  was  got  out  of  the 

cab,  and  borne  into  the  house,  she  never  knew ; 

and  "we  are  sure  that  no  ona  there  could  at 

thai  moiaent,  or  at  any  subsequent  period 


hrve  lucidly  enlightened  her  upon  the  point. 
She  only  knew  that  Ida  was  embracing  her 
with  sobs  and  cries  of  joy,  while  B  >b  was 
promenading  round  the  room  as  if  waiting  for 
his  turn  to  succeed  Ida  in  affectionate  acknowl- 
edgments. If  this  surmise  was  correct,  he 
proved  too  impatient  to  wait,  for  he  suddenly 
seized  his  aunt,  and  gave  her  such  a  hug,  that 
when  he  released  her,  she  insisted  that  he  was 
much  too  strong  in  his  manifestations  of  ecs- 
tasy, and  if  he  went  on  in  that  way  to  Susan's 
tali  sister,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  just 
made,  and  to  whom  he  had  made  declarations 
of  a  perennial  affection,  he  would  have  to  at- 
tend a  coroner's  inquest  upon  her  before  he 
married  her. 

Poor  Floret  was  overwhelmed  by  these  testi- 
monies of  delight  at  her  recovery,  and  as  soon 
as  she  could  recover  anything  like  self  posses- 
sion, she  inquired  for  Liper  Leper,  to  whom, 
she  informed  them,  she  owed  her  return.to 
Pimlico. 

Everybody  had  forgotten  the  cab  and  its 
driver,  and  a  general  rush  was  made  to  the 
door,  but  cab  and  driver  were  gone,  and  ne 
one  else  was  visible — Liper  Leper  had,  there- 
fore, gone,  too,  without  waiting  to  be  even 
thanked. 

Floret  was  disappointed,  but  she  knew  there 
was  much  yet  to  be  done,  and  that  Liper  Leper 
would  not  desert  her  until  her  fate  was  set  Jed 
in  one  way  or  the  other. 

Bob,  after  he  had  pacified  his  aunt,  by  tell- 
ing her  he  would  never  strain  her  to  his  heart 
with  such  vigor  again,  and  that  when  he  fold- 
ed Susan's  sister  to  his  bosom  he  would  do  it 
with  a  milder  violence,  offered  his  congratula- 
tions ta  Floret,  and  informed  her  that  she  had 
reached  Pimlico  in  the  very  "  nick  of  time". 
He  told  her  that  Suean  Atten,  now  Mrs.  Harry 
Vere,  was  back  again  from  Canada,  and  in 
London,  residing  only  a  street  or  two  off.  He 
confessed  that  it  was  too  late  that  night  to  go 
and  see  her,  but  he  entreated  her  to  accom- 
pany him  in  the  morning  to  Susan's  resi- 
dence, for  she  was  very  anxious  that  they 
should  meet,  not  only  because  that  she  was 
deeply  attached  to  her  from  having  reared  her 
from  infancy  to  childhood,  but  because  he  be- 
lieved now  that  she  could  materially  influence 
her  future. 

Floret  shook  her  head  despondently,  but 
she  readily  gave  him  the  required  promise, 
for  she  was  glad  to  hear  of  Susan's  return  to 
England  ;  and  he  then,  in  a  state  of  gleeful- 
ness  which  it  was  pleasant  to  behold,  took  his  • 
departure. 

But  not  until  he  had  given  to  Mrs.  Spencer 
another  but  more  modified  embrace,  and  had 
winked  at  her  roguisW  v.  saying : 

*'  Taat'a  the  eort  of  double  harneea-fold  for  ' 
Em'ly,  eh,  aunt  ?    I  think  so  I" 

Meanicg  by  Em'ly  the  aforesaid  Susan 'a 
sister. 

When  Floret  retired  with  Ida  to  their  sleep- 
ing chamber —  how  delieiously  cle»n,  and 
sweet,  and  large  it  seemed  to  that  which  ehe 
had  inhabited  ia  Daddy  Windy's  houee— Ida 


166 


back 


again  embraced  her,  welcoming  her 
again  with  kisses  oft  and  oft  repeated. 

The  little  Indian  child,  too,  disturbed  by  ihe 
noise  of  their  entry,  rose  up  in  its  bed,  and  on 
seeing  Floret,  clapped  its  little  hands,  and 
smiled  with  joy.  Floret  embraced  it  tenderly, 
and  a  thought  that,  though  she  might  be  dis- 
carded by  those  who  ought  to  cherish  and  pro- 
tect her,  there  was  yet  'something  to  live  for, 
passed  through  her  brain. 

And  then  again  Ida  stole  her  arm  around 
her  waist,  and  said,  in  a  soft  whisper  : 

"  Dear — dear  Edith,  I  have  so  much  to  tell 
you  about — whom  do  you  think  ?' ' 

Floret  sighed ;  she  was  too  depressed  for  ef- 
forts of  memory. 

"  I  cannot  think,"  she  said. 
(•     "  Nay,  make  a  guess,"  urged  Ida. 

"  Indeed,  my  mind  is  in  a  whirl,  dear  Ida," 
she  responded,  sadly,  "  and  I  have  not  the 
spirit  to  hazard  even  the  simplest  sugges- 
tion." 

:  "  Well,  then,"  said  Ida,  with  heightening 
eolor,  "  Lord  Victor !" 

i  Floret  turned  sharply  and  swiftly  to  her,  and 
Baid,  with  an  expression  of  acute  pain  upon  her 
features : 

"  Do  not  mention  that  name  to  me,  Ida,  if 
you  love  me.  Do  not  repeat  it  to  me  if  you 
would  ever  have  me  speak  to  you  again." 

Ida  gazed  at  her  earnestly,  and  her  eyes  be- 
came suffused  with  tears. 

"  You  are  so  strange  in  your  notions,  dear 
Edith,"  she  said,  with  a  kind  of  pitiful  pout 
of  the  lip  ;  "  why  should  I  not  speak  to  you 
of  him?" 

"  You  shall  know  some  day — sooner,  per- 
haps, than  you  expect,"  said  Floret,  and  pass- 
ed her  hand  over  her  eyes,  adding :  "  Let  us 
retire  to  rest,  Ida,  dearest,  for  I  am  very,  very 
weary  and  dck  at  heart." 

Floret  slept  not  that  night,  Her  mind  was 
racked  with  agony  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
interview  with  her  mother.  Every  chilling 
glance,  every  freezing  word,  every  insulting 
epithet  she  had  flung  at  her  she  recalled,  only 
to  inflict  upon  herself  fresh  poignancy  of 
grief. 

In  the  morning  she  arose  pale  and  unre- 
freshed  ;  but  though  weak  and  ill,  she  remem- 
bered her  promise  to  Bob,  and  dressed  herself 
to  be  ready  to  attend  his  summons. 

Bob  was  round  very  early,  and  was  very 
fussy,  and  very  nervous.  He  seemed  to  have 
many  gulpings  in  his  throat,  and  tears  started 
frequently  into  his  eyes,  as  though  his  mind 
was  more  occupied  with  events  elsewhere, 
than  with  those  in  which  he  was  taking  part. 

But  as  soon  as  Floret  declared  herself  ready 
to  depart  with  him,  he  bowed  to  her,  as  though 
he  did  not  aspire  to  the  honor  of  offering  her 
his  arm ;  and  he  marched  off  before  her  with 
very  much  of  the  grandeur  and  the  dignity 
which  a  Lord  Mayor  would  display  when 
marching  in  front  of  a  charming  Princess  of 
Wales. 

\  Upon  reaching  Little  Elizabeth  street,  Bob 
paused  before  the  residence  of  Susan,  and  was 


HAGAR  LOT; 

about  to  give  a  loud  rat  a-tat-tat  upon  th< 
knocker,  but  the  door  was  epened  before  h* 
could  commence  his  performance,  and  Mrs. 
Henry  Vere  stood  in  the  doorway. 

She  gazed  wistfully  and  earnestly  at  Floret ; 
for  she  was  now  so  tall,  and  in  her  neat  and 
tasteful  attire  looked  so  elegant  and  lady- 
like, that  the  impulse  she  felt  to  fold  her  in 
her  arms  and  press  her  to  her  heart  waa 
checked. 

Floret,  however,  soon  settled  her  hesitation  ; 
for  she  flung  her  arms  about  her  neck,  and 
much  as  a  sorrowful  child  would  in  the 
arms  of  its  mother,  sobbed  upon  her  neck. 

"Poor  Girl,  Poor  Girl!"  murmured  Susan, 
with  quivering  lips.  "  How  have  you  beer 
made  to  suffer ;  but  God  will  help  us,  and  all 
will  come  right  at  last." 

"  I  am  very  weak!"  eaid  Floret,  plaintively, 
"very  weak  and  depressed  just  now,  but  1 
shall  be  stronger  and  firmer  in  the  time  to 
come." 

Bob  hinted  that  looking  at  the  sun  made  hi: 
eyes  water,  and  he  could  not  think  what  made 
him  such  a  fool  as  to  stare  at  it,  for  he  was 
compelled  to  wipe  his  eyes  several  times  after 
doing  it. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  Harry,"  said  Su- 
san to  Floret,  with  a  sudden  blush. 

"  Indeed  I  have  not,  for  he  waa  very  kind  to 
me,"  returned  Floret. 

"He  only  did  hio  duty  by  thee,  lass."  ex- 
claimed suddenly  a  voice  close  behind  Susan. 
"  He  promised  Susey  that  he  would  do't  by 
thee,  an'  he  has,  lass  ;  he  has  as  far  maybe  as 
he  CPU— God  help  us  all." 

Hcny  Vere  was  the  speaker,  and  Floret  in- 
stantly recognized  him.  She  held  out  both 
her  hands,  and  he  shook  them  warmly. 

"  Coom  in,  lass,"  he  added,  in  an  undertone ; 
"  coooi  in,  till  I  bring  thee  to  others  as  want  to 
see  thee— coom  in !" 

Floret  passed  into  the  small  hall,  and  follow- 
ed Susan,  who  led  the  way  up  a  flight  of 
stairs.  As  they  reached  the  door  of  the 
apartment,  Susan  turned,  and  said  to  her  in  a 
whisper,  and  with  much  emotion  : 

"  Floret,  dear,  dear  Floret,  if  ever  you  had 
control  over  your  firmness,  courage,  and 
strength  of  mind,  exert  it  now.  Prepare  for 
estrange  events.  There  is  within  here  an  in- 
valid." 

She  opened  the  door  gemtly,  and  ushered 
Floret  into  the  room. 

The  Utter  glanced  timidly  round  her,  and 
beheld,  seated  by  the  window,  a  tsli,  thin  man, 
with  a  bronzed  x'aee,  whose  features  were  stern 
and  careworn ;  by  his  Bide  sat  a  female,  whose 
countenance,  perfectly  colorless,  waa  yet 
young  in  its  aspect,  and  very  pretty.  Her 
rich  brown  hair  was  parted  plainly  across  her 
temples,  and  her  deep,  earnest,  brown  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  vacancy. 

As  Floret  gazed  on  both,  filled  with  a  won- 
der and  an  agitation  for  which  she  could  not 
account,  Susan,  moving  Floret  slightly  for- 
ward, said,  in  a  low,  trembling  voice,  as  if  by 
way  of  introduction : 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


167 


"Tais  is  the  Poor  Girl!" 

The  tall,  stern-faced  man,  partly  rose  Tip  to 
greet  her  ;  but  his  face  changed  as  bis  glifter- 
ing  eyes  fell  on  her  face,  to  *  ghastly  yellow, 
and  groaning,  he  sank  down  in  his  teat  again, 
and  turnJDg  Iris  head  away,  he  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hand. 

Susan,  with  streaming  eyes  and  faltering 
voice,  continued,  as  Bho  turned  to  the  bewil- 
dered Floret,  and  pointed  to  the  man  : 

"That,  Floret,  is— ie— is  Harry's  brother, 
Stephen  Vero." 

She  paused  as  if  to  draw  breath,  as  if  to 
find  power  to  articulate,  and  then  she  pointed 
to  the  female,  who  had  not  moved  from  her 
position,  or  altered  the  direction  of  her  eyes 
when  Floret  entered,  and  said  : 

"This — this  —  O  Floret! — this  is  Fanny 
Shelley !" 

With  a  ecream— with  a  gasp,  Floret  fell 
fainting  to  the  ground. 

Susan  caught  her  up,  and  sobbing,  folded 
her  to  her  bosom. 

"  Floret,"  she  cried,  "  Floret,  have  courage 
— have  mercy  upon  us — for  God's  sake,  for  all 
our  sakes,  be  firm — look  up,  lookup— O  Har- 
ry!—Harry! —  Stephen,  she's  dying!— she's 
dying!" 

Poor  Floret,  she  was  not  proof  against  this 
unlooked-for  shock,  any  more  than  she  had 
been  against  her  mother's  cruel  repulse  of  her, 
and  it  was  some  time  before  their  united  ef- 
forts could  restore  her  to  consciousness. 

Susan  had  conveyed  her  to  her  own  room, 
and  had  not  ceased  in  her  efforts  to  bring  her 
round.  Bob,  in  his  fright,  had  dashed  off  for 
the  doctor,  the  same  gentleman  who  had  so 
kindly  attended  her  after  her  escape  from  the 
fire,  and  fortunately  met  him  aa  he  was  pro- 
ceeding to  attend  an  elderly  gentleman,  who, 
Laving  been  attacked  by  a  pain  in  the  knuc- 
kle joint  of  his  forefinger,  had  sent  expressly 
for  him  that  he  might  examine  it,  prescribe 
for  it,  and  decide  whether  it  would  be  the 
proper  thing  for  him  to  keep  his  bed  for  a 
week  or  so  on  account  of  it. 

Bob  seized  on  the  doctor,  and  in  spite  of 
remonstrances  and  struggles,  conveyed  him  to 
Susan's  abode,  and  did  not  release"  him  until 
he  had  landed  him  safely  in  Susan's  custody. 

Floret,  however,  was  then  fast  recovering, 
and  was  becoming  sensible  of  the  circum- 
stances by  which  she  was  surrounded.  The 
doctor  waM  soon  enabled  to  hasten  her  restora- 
tion, and  aa  she  expressed  with  much  agitation 
an  intence  deaire  to  return  to  the  room  which 
contained  the  long-supposed  murdered  Fanny 
Shelley,  he  undertook  to  explain  a  few  of  the 
mysteries  connected  with  the  latter  to  her 
before  she  saw  her  again  ;  and  he  did  this  with 
the  object  of  rendering  Floret  calm,  and  pre- 
pared to  go  through  a  no  doubt  exciting  in- 
terview with  her. 

Fanny  Shelley  in  truth  it  was  who  was  in 
the  adjoining  apartment — the  same  Fanny 
Shelley  who  was  the  foster-sister  of,  and  Lad 
been  the  faithful  and  devoted  attendant  of 
Constance  Plautagenet. 


And  she  was  mad  t 

Upon  the  night  she  met  Stephen  Yere,  it 
will  be  remembered  by  the  reader,  that  she, 
while  striving  to  prove  her  innocence  to  him, 
was  told  by  him  that,  owing  to  the  situation 
in  which  the  suspicions  of  the  village  Lad 
placed  her,  there  was  nothing  but  eternal 
misery  before  them  if  they  both  stayed  upon 
earth,  end  that,  therefore,  they  would  quit  it 
together.  She  at  that  instant  gazed  up  into 
hia  eyes,  and  there,  as  she  believed— and, 
alas !  she  was  not  far  from  the  truth — read  a 
design  to  murder  her  and  Limself. 

She  at  once  fled  away,  was  pursued  by 
him,  fell  senseless  to  the  ground,  as  he, 
startled  by  her  flight,  became  sensible  of  his 
own  wickedness,  and  when  he  restored  her, 
she  was  a  maniac ! 

Not  a  raving,  violent,  desperate  maniac; 
but  she  was  pensive,  sad,  and  impressed  with  a 
strange  belief  that  she  Lad  lost  her  foster- 
sister,  and  it  was  her  mission  to  wander  over 
the  face  of  the  earth  in  search  of  her. 

Stephen,  in  his  first  fright,  conveyed  her 
to  an  outhouse  at  no  great  distance,  and  there 
tried  every  means  to  restore  Ler. 

He  succeeded,  but  only  to  find  thai  phe  Lad 
lost  Ler  reason.  He  conveyed  Ler  next  to  an 
untenanted  cottage,  and  there  kept  her  closely 
out  of  sight  for  a  day,  until  he  could  deter- 
mine what  steps  to  take  with  respect  to  her. 

A  funeral,  which  took  place  at  Beach- 
borough,  suggested  a  schema  to  him,  and  Le 
earriedit  out. 

He  knew  that  a  girl  who  Lad  died  of  fever 
was  not  unlike  Fanny  Shelley  in  faee,  form, 
stature,  and  color  of  the  Lair  and  eyes,  and, 
on  the  night  she  was  buried,  ho  exhumed  the 
coffin,  rifled  it  of  its  contents,  replaced  it,  and 
bore  the  body  to  the  outhouse  to  which  Le 
Lad  first  carried  Fanny  Shelley. 

He  then  conveyed  Fanny,  in  the  nigLt,  to 
Tunbridge  Wells,  placed  Ler  in  the  care  of 
some  people  there,  and  providing  Ler  with  a 
change  of  clothes,  Le  took  away  those  which 
she  had  worn,  and  dressed  the  corpse  in  them. 
He  gashed  the  face  and  throat,  smeared  it 
with  some  fresh  blood  which  Le  Lad  provided 
for  the  purpose,  and  then  oast  it  into  the 
brook,  witL  what  result  is  now  known. 

He  contrived,  after  the  Coroner's  inquest, 
to  convey  Fanny  to  London,  and  there  again, 
aa  she  was  perfectly  harmless,  placed  her  in 
tLe  custody  of  a  family.  Then  Le  returned, 
and  took  leave  of  Lis  family.  He  came  back 
to  London,  took  Fanny  away  with  him  to 
Liverpool,  and  thence  to  Canada,  as  his  sister.  •• 

In  Canada,  Le  made  a  confidant  of  Lis  story  ' 
to  a  magistrate,  and,  for  Fanny's  sake,  a  mar-  • 
riage-ceremocy  was  performed.  It  was  strange  ' 
that  she  seemed  to  comprehend  the  service, 
and  to  recognize  the  words.    She  even  made 
the  responses  firmly  and  collectively,  and, 
when  it  was  ended,  kissed  Stephen  on  the 
forehead,  and  whispered  to  him : 

"  Dear  Stephen,  I  have  been  true  to  you ;  I 
will  be,  eo  long  as  I  may  live  I" 

It  was  the  only  lucid  interval  she  Lad  had 


168 


HAGAR  LOT 


in  sixteen  long  yean ;  but  all  the  doctors  who 
had  attended  her  seemed  to  have  hopes  that 
her  reason  might  yet  be  restored  to  her. 

Tho  medical  gentleman  whoso  services  Bob 
had  secured,  addressing  Floret  with  some  em- 
pha-'u,  said  : 

"A  shook  produced  it.  Sudden  excitement 
may  restore  her.  Upon  you,  from  what  I 
gather,  rests  the  only  chance  left." 

\  I    "  Let  me  see  her  now,"  said  Floret,  appeal- 

.  'ingly. 

ii  " Are  yon  strong  enough,  do  you  think  ?" 
inquired  the  Doctor. 

p.)  Floret  looked  at  him.  Strong  enough  !  He 
inew  not  what  depended  upon  Fanny  Shel- 
ley's recognition  of  her ;  he  could  not  know 
•what  energy,  what  firmness,  what  determina- 
tion she  could  bring  to  bear  upon  such  an  in- 
terview, now  that  the  mystery  of  Fanny's  fate 
had  been  so  strangely  and  so  happily  cleared 
up. 

!    She  rose  up,  she  placed  her  hand  in  Susan's, 
and  said : 

"Take  me  to  her.  I  am  prepared  to  go 
through  anything  now." 

Susan  took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  led  her 
to  the  room  door. 

I    "  Do  you  feel  faint  ?"  whispered  the  Doctor. 
!    "The  happiness  of  my  life  rests  upon  her 
recognition  of  me.    That  is  my  answer,"  re- 
turned Floret,  with  a  quiet  energy. 
,     "  It  is  enough,"  responded  the'Doctor. 
'     Susan  opened  the  door,  and  they  all  slowly 
entered  the  room  in  which  still  sat  Fanny 
Shelley. 

: 
CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

•*  Aitrange  emotion  stirs  within  him — more 
.   Tk»n  mere  compassion  ever  walk'd  bef are  ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  aa  with  life'*  last  energy," 

'  Floret,  as  she  entered  the  apartment,  remem- 
bered Liper  Leper's  words  to  her  when  recent- 
ly referring  to  her  history  : 
I  "  The  secret  of  your  birth,"  he  said,  "was 
kept  by  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester  and 
Fanny  Shelley— the  latter  is  dead,  the  Mar- 
chioness alone  can  furnish  the  proof  you  re- 
quire." 

|     Fanny  Shelley  was,  however,  not  dead  ;  she 

was  living  though  no";  sentient :  if  her  reason 

could  be  restored  to  her,  she  could  furnish  the 

necessary  proof,  and  establish  the  fact  that 

|  Floret  WAS  the  daughter  of  Lennox  Bertram 

».  and  Constance  Neville  PJantagecet. 

t      Floret  perceived  that  there  was  a  task  be- 

}  fore  her  which  would  command  all  her  ener- 

V  gies,  intelligence,  and  her  patience  ;  but  she 

j  did  not  quail  before  it,  because  she  saw  Hope 

i  in  her  faireet  attire  shining  beyond  her  labours. 

|      Tne  Doctor  had  assured  her,  too,  that  tbere 

Iras  a  possibility  of  the  recovery  of  Fanny 

Shelley's  senses,  and  that  success  depended 

mainly  upon  her.    She  resolved  to  earn  it  if 

•he  did  not  conquer  it. 

,,    These  thoughts  revolved  rapidly  in  heir  mind 


as  she  entered  the  chamber,  and  as  she  stood 
for  a  moment  gazing  uf  on  the  pale  fact*  bofore 
her,  and  the  deep  brown  eyes,  bent  steadfastly 
upou  vacancy. 

Susan  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  Fanny,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  her  : 
"  Fanny,  dear,  wiil  jou  talk  with  me  ?" 
For  some  time  she  did  not  reply,  as  though 

•        .*«..  ,  f    J  '  '        OM 

she  did  not  hear  her. 

She  repeated  her  question  several  times,  but 
with  a  like  unsuccerful  result. 

Then  Stephen  Vere  said  a  few  words  to  her ; 
but  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  shrank,  and 
cowered,  and  shuddered. 

With  a  look  of  pain,  he  turned  his  fao€ 
away,  and  remained  silent. 

Then  Harry  bent  forward  and  said  to  her : 

"Do  you  know  me,  Fanny  ?'' 

She  shook  her  her  head  ttlowly. 

"I  do  not  know  you,"  she  said,  in  a  gentle, 
plaintive  voice.  "  I  am  among  strangers — al- 
ways among  strangers — I  am  looking  for  her." 

"  Who  are  you  looking  for  ?"  a  ked  Harry. 

"  Aha !"  she  answered  slightly  knitting  hez 
brows.  "  I  cannot  teil  you,  no— no— no,  it  ii 
such  a  dreadfulsecret.  Shall  I  never  find  her.n 

"Why  do  you  want  to  find  her?"  asked 
Harry  quietly. 

"  I  must  not  tell  you,  I  must  not  tell  any 
one,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  tender,  com- 
plaining tone.  «'  I  would  have  told  Stephen- 
dear  Stephen— but  I  promised  to  keep  hei 
frightful  secret,  andC  have.  Stephen  would 
have  killed  me,  because  I  would  not  betray 
her;  and  it  broke  my  heart.  O!  Stephen  I 
Stephen — dear  Stephen! — we  ahull  meet  in 
heaven,  when  our  troubles  are  ended.  O,  il 
you  had  only  known  how  faithful  I  was  to  you, 
and  how  I  loved  you— you  would  have  never 
looked  at  me  so  angrily,  nor  have  spoken  to 
me  so  harshly  and  unkindly  as  you  did  on  that 
dreadful  night." 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,"  murmured  Stephen, 
with  a  trembling  lip,  moving  as  he  would  quit 
the  apartment- 
Susan  stayed  him  with  an  entreating  gesture. 

''For  her  sake — for  your  own  sake— re- 
main," she  whispered. 

Then  ehe  turned  hastily  to  Floret,  and  with" 
clasped  hands  »aid,  beseechingly  : 

"  Speak  to  her,  dear  Floret — though  but  a 
word.  Your  voice  will  sound  strange  in  her 
ears  ;  it  may  attract  her  attention  towards  y  ou.M 

"  Fanny  1"  exclaimed  Floret,  instantly  ad- 
dressing her,  in  a  clear,  half-playful  tone, 
whicn,  though  asaumed,  was  well  adapted 
to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  intended, 
"  will  you  not  speak  to  me?" 

Fanny  started  as  if  under  the  influence  of  an 
electric  shock,  and  murmured  : 

"That  voice — where  did  that  voice  come 
from?" 

She  turned  her  head  slowly  round,  and  her 
eyes  moved  restlessly,  but  still  with  a  vacant 
expression. 

*'  Fanny !"  repeated  Floret,  with  a  beating 
heart,  "  look  upon  me.  Have  you  forgo tteu 
me?" 


OE.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


169 


Ajjain  Fanny  started  as  though  a  violent 
drill  ran  through  her  frame,  and  her  lips  mov- 
ed more  rapidly  than  ever. 

Suddenly  they  encountered  Floret's  face,  and 
they  diUted  to  an  extent  which  gave  to  ber 
white  countenance  an  awful  expression.  They 
rested  there,  and  her  lips  movfcd  quickly. 

A  dead  silence  reigned  in  the  room,  every 
one  held  their  breath  ;  Floret,  though  almost 
appalled  by  the  glare  with  which  Fanny  re- 
garded her,  did  not  remove  for  an  instant  her 
eyes  from  her. 

Fanny  raised  her  hand  slowly,  and  passed  it 
over  her  forehead,  then  she  pressed  it  upon 
her  eyelids,  closing  her  eyes.  Presently  she 
opened  them,  and  again  they  rested  upon 
Floret's  face. 

'*  It  is  a  spectre,"  she  muttered ;  "  it  is  only 
a  shadow,  a  mockery,  which  haunts  me." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  holding  them 
ftppealingly  to  Floret,  said  : 

"  Leave  "me,  for  you  are  not  real.  Go,  for 
you  are  a  shadow.  Pity  me,  pity  me! 
When  you  appear  to  me  as"  a  shade  you  pain 
tne.  You  make  my  heart  ache.  Go — go!" 

She  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  heart. 

41  Ob,  the  agony  I  suffer  !"  she  continued,  in 
a  tone  of  anguish.  "Miss  Conetanoe,  have 
mercy.  I  would  have  died  for  you  ;  be  mer- 
eiful  to  me— depart,  and  leave  me  in  peace !" 

Suddenly,  as  if  influenced  by  an  inspiration 
Floret,  in  a  rich,  sweet,  tremulous  voice,  which 
moved  every  one  to  tears,  sang  : 

"  Oranges,  sweet  oranges, 

Pulpy  cheeks  that  peep  through  trees." 

Fanny  listened  with  a  wild,  attentive  look  ; 
and  as  Floret  passed  on,  concluding  the  verse, 
took  up  the  refrain,  and  sang  with  a  peculiar 
Ij  soft,  silvery  tone  : 

"La,  la,  sol  fa  mi, 
Hy  lady  looked  through  the  orange  tree." 

She  still  kept  her  eye  fixed  intently  up- 
on Floret's  face,  and  rose  slowly  up  and  ad- 
vanced toward  her. 

Floret,  unnerved  by  her  sudden  movement, 
tank  affrighted  upon  a  chair. 

Fanny  instantly  placed  herself  at  her  feet, 
and  looking  fondly  in  her  fair  young  face, 
UDiig  in  the  same  low,  thrilling  tones  : 

"  Tet  cheeks  there  are,  yet  cllfcks  there  are 
Sweeter— 0,  gooiGod,  how  far 
Which  makes  a  thirst  like  very  death, 
Down  to  the  heart  through  lips  and,  breath 
And  if  we  ask  a  taste  of  those, 

•  The  kindest  owners  would  turn  foes. 

La,  la,  la,  scl  fa  mi, 
My  lady's  gone  from  the  orange  tree." 

"Gone!"  she  murmured,  plaintively; 
**  gone  forever—gone — gone — gone !" 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  and 
bowing  her  head  upon  her  knees,  wept  bitterly. 

The  Doctor  raised  his  hands  to  direct  silence 
and  Susan  forced  her  hands  tightly  over  her 
mouth,  to  keep  down  her  sobs. 

The  dead  silence  perhaps  had  the  effect  o 
inducing  Fanny  to  lift  her  head  slowly,  anc 
gaze  around  her. 

Ag&in  her  eyes  encountered  the  face  of 


and,  rieiog  tipon  ber  kfleee,  sh*  stretch- 
ed ont  her  hand  ana  murmured — 
*'  Not  gone — still  here  ?    Not  pore  !'* 
She  touched  Floret's  hands.      A  etracpe, 
.ow,  hoarse  cry  burst  frpm  her  lips,     ttbe  ran 
ler  tremblicg  fingers  over  Floret's  shoulders, 
r  face,  her  hair. 

"  Flesh  and  blood  !"  she  exclaimed,  ia  quiv- 
ering accents  ;  "real,  warm,  breathing  hfe— 
can  it  be  true?  Are  you  no  phantom?  In  the 
name  of  Heaven,  speak  to  me?" 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  Fanny,  I  am  living,  breath- 
ng  as  you  see  me,"  answered  Floret,  ia  feeble, 
unsteady  tones. 

A  wild,  hysterical  laugh  burst  from  berlipe. 

''Mies  Constance,  dear  Mies  Constance,  fos- 
ter-sister!" she  exc]aimed,  as  she  caught  her 
band?,  and  kissed  them  passionately,  "  we 
have  not  been  sundered  forever,  and — *' 

She  paused,  and  turned  ber  eyes  upward,  for 
a  figure  was  bending  over  her.  Sne  gazed 
steadfastly,  but  for  an  instant  only.  She  rec- 
ognized the  face. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,'shrieking  : 

"  Stephen— Stephen — my  own  dear,  deal 
Stephen!" 

Sbe  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  This  is  no  dream,"  she  cried,  wildly  ;  "n« 
cheating  of  the  senses." 

"  It  is  reality,  my  own  darling  girl !"  he  re- 
sponded, as  preesing  her  to  his  heart,  he  eob- 
bed  like  a  boy  upon  her  shoulder. 

In  less  almost  than  a  second  she  drew  her* 
self  back,  and  raised  his  face,  so  that  she  could 
gaze  upon  it  wet  as  it,  was  with  tears. 

"  O,  yes— yes,  it  ia  my  Stephen  1"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  increasing  excitement.  "  It  is 
you,  Stephen,  and  with  looks  which  are  full  oi 
love  for  me  still !  O,  my  God,  my  God !  I 
thank  thee— I — I !  O,  my  brain,  my  brain, 
it  is  bursting!" 

She  screamed  as  she  uttered  the  last  words, 
and  sank  senseless,  like  a  log,  in  Stephen's 
arms. 

The  Doctor  stepped  forward. 

"  Her  reason  is  restored,  I  believe  I"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  low  tone.  *'  But  there  is  much 
yet  to  be  done,  and  we  must  do  that  much 
carefully.  Lay  her  gently  upon  the  couch. 
I  will  soon  bring  her  back  to  life.  Tou  per- 
ceive that  she  has  recognized  the  two  beings 
she  loved  moat  in  the  world.  Their  faces 
must  be  the  first  upon  which  she  rests  her 
eyes  when  she  recovers  from  her  swoon ;  if  she 
still  recognizes  them,  the  remainder  of  our 
task  will  be  easy.  The  rest  of  you  had  better 
retire." 

Harry  shook  his  brother's  hand  heartily, 
and  in  silence ;  and  then  he  took  Susan  in  hia 
arms,  and  kiesed  her  fondly. 

Bob  gave  a  low  hem !  to  clear  his  throat,  he 
dashed  the  back  of  his  hands  across  bis  mois- 
tened eyelids,  as  he  fancied,  unobserved,  and 
then  glided  out  of  the  room  in  search  of  Emily, 
in  order,  we  suspect,  that  he  might  practice 
upon  her  that  said  "  double  harness  fold". 

At  least  he  muttered,  as  he  disappeared  Tith 
a  roguish  wink  at  Susan : 


170 


IIAGAB  LOT ; 


"  I  think  eo." 

Snsan  and  Harry  followed  him,  leaving  only 
Stephen  and  Floret  alone  with  the  Dootor  and 
Fanny. 

Both  Stephen  and  Floret  watched  with  in- 
tccfle  eagerness  for  the  signs  of  returning  con- 
sciousness, and  as  Fanny's  breast  began  to 
heare,  and  a  sigh  escaped  her  lips,  the  Doctor 
whispered  to  Floret : 

"  Let  yours  be  the  first  face  to  meet  the  gaze 
of  her  opening  eyes.  She  has,  although  un- 
conscious of  his  identity,  been  acccstomed  to 
see  Mr.  Vere  ;  but  the  lady  whom  yon  repre- 
sent has  been  the  constant  object  of  her 
thoughts  during  her  aberration  of  intellect, 
and  upon  seeing  your  countenance  when  she 
comes  out  of  her  swoon,  and  finds  that  you  are 
a  living,  bee«.thing  object,  it  may  prevent  a 
relapse.  It  will  be  as  well  for  a  time  to  keep 
up  the  impression  that  you  are  the  lady  whom 
ehe  supposes  you  to  be ;  for  if  you  succeed  in 
making  her  recognize  you,  and  to  talk  coher- 
ently with  you,  and  she  afterward  recognizes 
her  husband  and  converses  with  him  lucidly, 
though  even  in  a  email  degree,  your  battle 
will  be  won.  The  only  thing  remaining  will  be 
to  restore  her  shattered  strength ;  and  as  her 
constitution  is  perfectly  sound,  a  few  weeks 
will  not  only  do  that,  but  bring  back  her  lost 
memory,  leaving  only  that  gap,  between  the 
first  shock  to  her  reason  and  now,  which  noth- 
ing but  her  husband's  revelations  can  fill  up." 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  intense  anxie- 
ty they  all  watched,  the  signs  of  returning  ani- 
mation after  the  Doctor's  remarks. 

Floret  sat  by  Fanny's  side,  with  her  hand  in 
hers,  and  her  face  disposed  so  that  the  light 
from  the  window  fell  upon  it,  and  it  would  be 
the  first  object  which  would  meet  Fanny's  gaz.e. 

Stephen  and  the  Doctor  stood  back  and 
maintained  a  breathless  silence. 

F.'oret  perceived  the  eyelids  of  Fanny  flut- 
tering rapidly,  and  bending  lower  still  over 
her,  she  sang,  in  a  low,  touching  voice,  the 
refrain  of  the  orange-ballad,  which  she  had 
only  heard  from  the  lips  of  Lord  Victor  and 
Fanny;  and  which  she  had  treasured  in  her 
memory  ever  since  she  had  heard  his  rich 
voice  chant  it  in  Trentham  wood : 

"  La,  la,  la,  sol  fa  mi, 

My  lady  looked  through  the  orange  tree." 

As  the  tones  thrilled  in  Fanny's  ears,— for  she 
had  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  susceptible  to 
sound— she  opened  her  eyes  and  fastened  them 
on  Floret's  face. 

•  She  gazed  at  her  thoughtfully  for  almost  a 
minute  without  uttering  a  word ;  but  her 
throat  palpably  worked  uneasily. 

Floret  pressed  her  hand,  and  exclaimed,  in 
a  clear  though  slightly  tremulous  tone — 

i     "  Fanny,  you  know  me  now,  I  am  sure." 

Fanny  half  raised  herself,  and  squeezed 
her  hand  almost  convulsively  : 

,  "O,  Miss  Constance  1"  she  exclaimed, 
speaking  quickly,  and  with  emotion.  "  It  is 
roally  you— I  am  not  dreaming !  O,  I  seem 
io  have  worn  away  a  life  in  one  long,  horrid 


dream — but,  thank  Heaven,  I  eee  you  now  still 
a  girl— still— I — a" — she  cast  her  eyes  rapidly 
round  her,  and  exclaimed  hurriedly,  "  Where 
are  we?  0,  Miss  Constance,  what  strange 
place  is  this  ?" 

Stephen  Vere  stepped  gently  forward,  and 
in  a  shaking  voice,  but  yet  with  the  utmost 
tendernerp,  enid ; 

"  Fanny,  my  girl,  you  are  with  me." 

She  turned  her  eyes  up  to  his,  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  And  Stephen,  too,  dear  Stephen,  I  have 
had  an  awful  dream  of  you  !"  she  exclaimed, 
and  checking  herself,  said  abruptly,  with  an- 
other surprised  glance  around  her :  "Have  I 
been  ill?" 

/'Yes,  very  ill,"  observed  the  Doctor,  step- 
ping forward,  and  adding,  in  a  professional 
tone,  "You  are  under  my  care,  and  must  for 
some  time  be  kept  very  quiet,  free  from  all 
excitement,  see  no  one,  and  not  even  talk  un- 
til I  grant  you  permission.  You  must  not 
think  me  harsh  and  cruel ;  for  it  is  not  only  for 
your  own  goe<l  that  I  must  exact  this  disci- 
pline, but  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  most 
dear  to  you.  You  know  now  that  yon  are 
surrounded  by  friends,  who  will  take  the 
greatest  care  of  you,  but  who  will  also  explain 
everything  to  you  when  you  are  strong  enough 
to  hear  all  that  may  have  to  be  told  to  you." 

"  You  will  do  what  the  Doctor  so  kindly 
advises,  for  my  sake,  will  you  not,  Fanny  ?" 
asked  Floret,  pressing  her  hand. 

Fanny  gazed  fondly  at  her.  "  I  would  die 
for  you,  MIPS  Constance,"  she  murmured. 

"'And  thee'lt  be  obedient  for  my  sake,  too, 
Fanny, girj,  wiltthee  not?"  observed  Stephen, 
in  an  affectionate  tone. 

She  looked  tip  at  him  lovingly. 

"  Indeed  I  will,  dear  Stephen,"  she  replied, 

And  so,  without  more  words,  she  was  re- 
moved to  her  sleeping-apartment,  and  Floret 
took  her  leave  of  her,  while  Susan,  whom 
Fanny,  after  a  careful  study  of  her  features, 
recognized,  much  to  her  delight,  prepared  to 
wait  upon  her — as,  in  fact,  she  had  waited  on 
her—as  if  she  was  a  eister,  whom  she  loved 
better  than  herself. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Fanny  put  her 
arms  round  Susan's  neck,  and  said,  with  a 
kind  of  frightened  look  : 

"I  begin  to  oeejthat  something  terrible  and 
strange  has  occurred.  Stephen  looks  older, 
and  you  look  older  to  me  than  you  ought,  and 
yet  Miss  Constance  ia  as  young  and  beautiful 
as  she  was  when — when — " 

"  Dear,  dear  Fanny,  you  must  not  talk  nor 
think  now,"  interposed  Susan,  placing  her 
hand  before  Fanny's  mouth.  "  You  have 
be3n  ill  for  a  long  time  ;  many  changes  have 
occurred  since,  and  the  happineas  of  many 
depends  upon  your  recovery ;  therefore,  you 
must  be  quiet  and  patient,  obedient  and  good, 
and  the  Doctor  says  you  will  soon  be  quite 
well.  O  Fanny,  do  what  the  Doctor  wishes 
you.  We  all  love  you,  and  \7e  shall  ell  be  so, 
so  happy  when  we  know  that  jou  are  well  and 
strong  again." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  P00$  GIRL. 


171 


Fanny's  kind  and  yielding  nature  wag  in 
her  favor ;  for,  laying  her  Lead  back  upon  her 
pillow,  she  murmured : 

"  I  will  try  to  be  patient  and  resigned.  I 
shall  know  all,  I  fear,  soon  enough." 

The  Doctor  hurried  home,  and  sent  a  gentle 
opiate,  which  Susan  instantly  administered  to 
Fanny,  and  she  quickly  sank  into  a  gentle 
but  sound  slumber. 

Floret,  in  the  meantime,  took  her  depart- 
ure, escorted  by  Bob,  in  a  yet  prouder  and 
more  dignified  style  than  any  lord  mayor 
could  have  brought  to  light.  Hia  eye  glit- 
tered like  the  evening  star,  hia  face  was  all 
smiles,  and  hia  heart  leaped  with  joy—for  had 
not  Fanny  recovered  her  senses  ? — would  not 
the  Poor  Girl  become  a  great  lady  ? — and  had 
he  not,  after  several  shyings  on  the  part  of 
Em'ly,  prac  ft'-sed,  with  success,  "  the  double- 
harness  fold"  ? 

Bob  parted  with  Floret  at  Mrs.  Spencer's 
door,  and  she  found,  on  entering  the  house, 
thaj  Mrs.  Spencer  and  Ida  had  gone  out  for  a 
short  time,  taking  with  them  the  little  Indian 
girl. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  hear  this  from  the  di- 
minutive little  maid  whom  Mrs.  Spencer  em- 
ployed to  assist  her,  because  she  felt  a  strong 
wish  to  be  alone,  that  she  might  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  contemplate  calmly,  but  with  a 
just  and  keen  perception,  the  new  situation 
which  the  discovery  cf  Fanny  Shelley's  exist- 
ence and  the  restoration  of  her  senses  opened 
for  her.  She,  therefore,  proceeded  to  her 
humble,  but  neatly- arranged  apartments, 
and,  retiring  to  her  bed-chamber,  removed  her 
walking  apparel,  and  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room,  repeating,  involuntarily,  in  conse- 
quence, perhaps,  of  her  lightened  spirits,  the 
two  lines  which  he  had  sung  in  response  to 
her  in  Trentham  Wood  : 
"  La,  la,  la,  sol  fa  ml, 
My  lady  looked  through  the  orange  tree." 

While  the  last  note  was  lingering  upon  her 
lip,  she  fancied  that  she  saw  a  figure  arise 
from  a  chair  which  was  placed  in  a  corner  of 
the  room. 

She  turned  quickly,  thinking  it  waa,Ida  who 
had  returned,  and  was  anxiously  awaiting  the 
result  of  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Henry  Vere,  and 
she  gazed,  as  ehe  supposed,  toward  her  with  a 
smile,  which  instantly  faded  from  her  face. 

It  was  Lord  Victor  who  stood  tefore  her. 

With  a  disconcerted  mien,  she  retreated  a 
few  steps,  and  he  advanced  a  little  more  hast- 
ily, fearing  she  was  about  to  reiire  from  the 
room. 

"Will  you  not  speak  to  me?"  he  said,  in 
low  and  earnest  tones. 

Shs  cast  her  eyea  upon  the  ground,  and  re- 
mained silent. 

He  looked  steadfastly  upon  her  face,  and 
continued : 

"  Indeed,  you  may,  Floret,  without  consid- 
eration or  'hesitation.  Observe  my  attire. 
You  will  perceive  that  I  am  in  deep  mourn- 
ing. I  have  suffered  a  heavy  family  bereave- 
ment. A  fit  pf  apoplexy  carried  off  my  fa- 


ther some  ten  days  back,  and  on  the  morning 
following  that  day,  the  post  brought  a  letter, 
conveying  the  mournful  intelligence  that  my 
elder  and  only  brother  was  drowned  while  at- 
tempting to  rival  Leander'a  fea*,  and  ewim 
across  the  Hellespont.  I  am,  therefore,  now 
the  Marquis  of  Broadlands." 

Floret  placed  her  hand  on  her  boeom,  to 
keep  down  the  tumultuous  beating  of  her 
heart ;  but,  save  by  a  slight  bend  of  the  form, 
to  acknowledge  that  she  heard  what  he  said, 
she  remained  silent  and  motionless. 

"I  have  not  mentioned  thia  change  in  my 
position,  Floret,"  he  continued,  in  tne  came 
low,  rich,  fervid  tone,  "  with  any  other  object 
than  to  acquaint  you  that  I  aui  responsible  to 
no  one  on  earth  but  mys«lf  for  my  actions,  BO 
that  you  may  the  more  fully  comprehend 
what  I  ain  about  to  say  to  you.  May  I  pray 
you  to  be  eeated  while  I  address  you  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  Lord,"  returned  Floret, 
faintly  ;  "  I  would  rather  remain  as  I  am." 

"  Bo  ifc  BO,"  he  replied. 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  take  a  deep 
breath,  and  to  nerve  himself  to  utter  all  that 
he  had  in  hia  mind  and  that  he  intended  to 
say,  and  then  he  went  on — his  voice,  though 
tremblftg  slightly,  being  very  earnest  in  its 
expression. 

"  Let  me  premiee  that  I  am  fully  acquaint- 
ed with  your  history  BO  far  as  it  can  be  at 
present  known,  but  tuat  it  has  not,  does  not, 
and  will  not  affect  my  intentions.  I  should  say 
to  you  what  I  am  now  about  to  reveal  with  the 
same  sincerity,  if  I  knew  you  to  be  a  veritable 
Poor  Girl,  the  daughter  of  that  strange  old 
gipsy  man  who  had  you  under  his  care,  and 
with  more  sincerity  than  if  I  knew  you  to  be 
the  only  child  of  one  of  our  proudest  dukes. 

"Floret,  human  emotions  are  not  regulated 
by  the  relations  in  which  we  stand  to  each 
other  in  society,  although  society  endeavors 
to  make  feeling  subservient  to  rank,  and  they 
are  not  regulated  by  them,  because  they  will 
not  submit  to  their  thralldom.  Love  is  not  a 
deity—" 

Floret  raised  her  eyes,  and  interposed,  in  a 
tone  of  distress  :  "  I  pray  you,  my  Lord,  to 
spare  me  further  remarks." 

"  Floret,"  he  replied,  quickly,  "  you  are  too 
keenly  sensitive.  I  can  easily  comprehend 
how,  with  your  natural  feelings  and  instincts, 
your  hard  attrition  with  the  world  has  made 
you  suffer  more  acutely  and  poignantly  the 
remarks  and  conduct  of  others  than  it  would 
those  who  have  been  more  happily  chcum- 
atanced;  but,  pardon  me,  it  scarcely  allow 
you  to  be  unjust  to  mo  in  your  thoughts."  ; 

"  Unjust  to  you,  my  Lord  I1'  she  exclaimed, 
taken  off  her  guard  by  her  surprise.  "  Yon 
wrong  me  by  that  impression.  1  have  never 
been  unjust  to  you  in  my  thoughts.  Ou  the 
contraiy,  I  have  always  regarded  you  with  the 
ten— with  the  kin — with,  I  wish  to  say,  proper 
appreciation  of  your  worth,"  she  finished, 
blushing  like  a  rose,  and  much  confused. 

Hia  heart  beat  rapidly  as  he  observed  her 
embarrassment,  and  he  went  on  juiekljr ;  > 


172 


"  I  BO  wieh  that  we  should  quite 
each  other,  FJoret,  that  I  entreat  you  if  I  uee 
an  observation  that  may  be  unacceptable  to 
you,  to  correct  me.  I  have  not  sought  you 
believe  me,  to  extort  from  you  any  expression 
of  sentiments  or  opinion.  I  am  here  to  make 
a  plain  statement  to  you,  and  to  leave  to  you 
your  own  time  to  give  me  a  reply,  if  you 
vouchsafe  me  any  reply  at  all." 

Again  he  paused,  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 
He  then  proceeded  rapidly  : 

"  Floret,  when  we  first  met  I  was  a  mere  boy, 
and  you  were  a  child.  I  was  greatly  attracted 
by  your  face,  and  much  struck,  noi;  only  by 
the  fact  of  your  making  to  me  the  offer  of  * 
bouquet  of  wild  flowers  of  your  own  arrange- 
ment, but  by  your  manner  and  by  your  words. 
I  smiled  at  your  offering,  and  you,  with  a  swift 
and  rising  color,  as  though  that  smile  had 
stung  you,  begged  me  not  to  scorn  your  gift. 
Yoa  told  me  tbat  it  was  all  you  had  to  bestow 
— you  had  nothing  better,  or  you  would  give 
it  to  me.  Floret,  after  that  event,  your  face 
was  engrayen  upon  my  eyes,  your  words  upon 
my  heart.  Surrounded  as  1  had  been  with 
sycophants  and  flatterers,  I  had  seldom  met 
with  a  piece  of  genuine,  unsophisticated  na- 
ture, unless  it  were  of  a  very  unattractive  kind. 
Your  eyes,  clear,  large,  and  liquid,  haunted 
me  ;  your  words  thrilled  me  as  I  repeated  them 
over  and  over  again.  I  was  but  a  boy — a  boy, 
Fleret — one  who  is  spoken  of  with  contempt 
where  the  heart  is  concerned ;  but  who  is, 
nevertheless,  then  sincere,  guileless,  pure,  and 
unselfish  I  confess  that  I  regarded  the  event 
as  an  episode  in  my  life,  out  of  which  nothing 
would  come  but  a  pleasant  memory,  and  that 
time  would  wear  off  its  influence.  But  time 
did  not  diminish  its  influence,  and  memory 
only  seemed  to  grow  brighter  by  feeding  on 
the  incidents  of  that  morning.  I  premised 
that  I  would  preserve  that  small  bouquet  while 
I  lived.  I  have  it  now.  "Will  you  not  believe 
me?" 

"  I— I  know  if,"  ehe  faltered,  faintly. 

She  remembered  vividly  Mrs.  Spencer's  lit- 
tie  anecdote. 

He  erailed  instantly,  and  rejoined : 

"Very  likely.  Poor  Mrs.  Spencer's  zeal 
very  nearly  robbed  me  of  my  greatest  trea- 
sure. Let  me  proceed ;  I  was  very  careful 
after  that  circumstance  cf  your  gift,  and  it  be- 
came my  daily  companion,  as  it  is  now.  When 
I  went  to  college,  I  found  that  the  society  of 
friends  and  companions,  the  laborious  duties 
of  study,  and  the  indulgence  of  pleasure  did 
..cot  weaken  the  brightness  of  the  vision  which 
[nightly  brought  your  face  before  me,  or  di- 
minish my  daily  recollection  of  our  meeting  in 
Trentbam  Wood.  As  I  grew,  these  memories 
grew  wu,h  me,  until  it  became  eventually  a 
subject  of  such  grave  importance  to  me  that  it 
;  was  essential  that  I  should  examine  into  tho 
real  feelings  of  my  heart.  The  way  in  which 
your  form  and  face  clung  to  my  memory  was 
neither  an  accident  nor  a  thing  of  course,  and 
I  felt  it  a  ou-y  to  myself  to  solve  the  inyctery. 
At  this  time  I  met  you  a  second  time,  ako  in 


EAGAR  LOT 


Trentham  Wood,  when,  strangely  ftnougb,  a 
second  time  ray  services  were  requisite  to  give* 
you  aid,  although  I  then  failed  to  succeed  in 
rescuing  you.  That  interview,  however, 
served  to  make  still  brighter  in  my  mind  tho 
impression  of  you  that  I  had  already  formed, 
and  to  confirm  an  opinion  which  I  had  hazard- 
ed as  to  your  nature ;  but  still  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  comprehend  why  your  face,  your  eyes,  your 
form,  your  voice  should  haunt  me  incessantly ; 
but  when  I  quitted  this  house  after  the  first  in- 
terview that  I  had  here  with  you,  the  mystery 
remained  a  mystery  no  longer.  Floret,  that 
night  my  self-examination  proved  to  me  that 
I  loved  you." 

Floret  turned  half  way  from  him.  0,  the 
bliss ;  0,  the  ecstasy,  the  unfathomable  joy, 
those  four  poor  words  gave  to  her ;  and  O,  the 
agony  which  instantly  succeeded!  for  what 
could  his  affection  for  her  be  but  a  love  mis- 
placed—^a  love  which  she  could  not  accept,  and 
which  it  would  break  her  heart  to  reject  1 

In  a  somewhat  unsteady,  but  still  a  passion- 
ately-earnest voice,  he  proceeded : 

"  That  I  loved  you  truly,  fondly,  devotedly, 
and  sincerely.  Loved  you,  Floret,  as  a  man 
sLould  love  a  woman,  as  woman  lovea  when 
she  does  love — without  a  reserve." 

He  ceased  for  a  moment,  evidently  over- 
come by  his  emotion,  but  hastily,  by  a  strong 
effort,  recovering  himself,  he  went  on : 

"  When  assured  that  I  was  not  self-deluded, 
I  then  addressed  myself  to  the  consideration 
of  the  course  it  was  my  duty  to  pursue.  My 
task  was  an  easy  one ;  but  my  decision  was 
not  arrived  at  without  a  most  careful  reflec- 
tion and  close  search  into  the  deepest  recesses 
of  my  nature.  The  result  was  the  same  as  if 
I  had  not  reflected  at  all.  I  found  that  I 
loved  you  truthfully,  and  I  determined  that,  il 
I  could  win  your  consent,  we  would  join  onr 
fates  together,  and  whatever  would  be  our  cir- 
cumstances, we  would  pass  through  life  to- 
gether, lovirg  and  loved.  On  arriving  at  thia 
conclusion,  I  sought  you  to  acquaint  you  with 
my  eelf-comrounionand  its  end;  but  you  had 
quitted  ^iere  on  a  visit  to  Lady  Brackleigh.  I 
sought  you  there ;  but  altheogh  I  had  the 
happiness  to  see  you  on  that  occasion  for  a 
moment  only,  dreesed  to  receive  the  Earl  of 
Brackleigh/I  was  unable  to  speak  with  yon. 
I  sought  you  again,  but  you  were  gone,  and 
none  knew  where.  I  have  since  searched  for 
you  in  every  direction  throughout  London 
where  I  thought  it  probable  or  possible  you 
might  be  found,  but  in  vain.  This  morning  I 
learned,  to  my  joy,  that  you  had  returned  to 
your  home,  and  1  am  here — here,  Floret,  un- 
trammeled  by  a  consideration,  with  the  power 
to  act  as  I  will,  unfettered  ;  here  with  a  full 
heart,  in  which  there  lurks  not  a  scruple,  with 
a  full  knowledge  of  your  condition  and  my 
own,  to  entreat  me  to  grant  me  your  hand,  that 
\ou  may  become  my  beloved,  adored,  honored 
wife." 

He  spoke  with  BO  much  earnestness  and 
emotion  that  the  last  word  was  barely  audible, 
and  he  became  eilent 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


373 


He  saw  her  press  Ler  folded  hands  upon  her 
Bottom,  he  pttw  the  fast- falling  tears  descend 
from  her  eyes,  but  her  head  was  bent  down, 
perhaps  to  conceal  her  agitation. 

fle  squeezed  hie  hands  together/  and  in  a 
husky  voice  be  said  ; 

"  Perhaps  you  have  already  given  your  heart 
to  another,  and  uiy  confession  only  pains  and 
.distresses  you  ?" 

"  No!— O,  no— no!"  e&e replied,  faintly,  but 
without  raising  her  head. 

"  Floret— dear,  dear  Floret,  have  I  offended 
you  ?"  he  continued,  earnestly. 

8 he  raised  her  eyes  to  hie,  and,  suffused  as 
they  were  with  bright  tears,  he  saw  that  there 
was  in  them  an  expression  of  reproach. 

"Miy  I  hope?"  he  gasped,  eagerly.  "0 
Floret,  one  word — one  little  word — for  my 
heart  is  bursting !" 

Not  a  word.  But  she  looked  in  his  eyes, 
her  o*n  beaming  with  such  fond,  passionate 
love,  that  instinctively  he  held  out  his  arms 
to  h?r,  and  with  a  cry  of  entranced  delight, 
ehe  flung  herself  into  them. 

A  haven  of  hope,  of  joy,  of  reet,  of  happi- 
ness, to  her !" 

It  was  awkward  that  at  this  moment  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh  should  open  the  door, 
and  observe  the  poor,  tempest-tossed  vessel 
taking  refuge  in  the  said  haven. 

CHAPTER  XL. 
"  "What  is  the  world  to  them, 
its  pomp,  its  pleasure,  ami  its  lionaease  all, 
Who  in  each  other  clasp  whatever  fair 
High  fancy  forms  ar,d  lavish  hearts  can  wish  ? 
Bometbing  than  beauty  dearer  efcould  they  look 
Or  on  the  mind,  or  micd  illumin'd  f  aco  ; 
Truth,  goouneis,  honor,  harmony,  and  lore, 
The  richest  bounty  of  indulgent  Heaven  !" 

— THOMSON. 

Of  course,  the  situation  was  exceedingly 
embarrassing  both  to  Floret  and  to  Victor 
Marquis  of  Broaclands,  when  simultaneously 
they  perceived  the  Couuteess  of  Brackleigh 
Btandk'g  at  the  door  of  the  apartment. 

The  young  Marquis,  however,  locked,  and 
EO  doubt  he  ftlfc  greatly  elated — net  a<i  the 
discovery,  but  at  the  delicious  fact  in  which 
he  had  been,  as  he  regarded  it,  prematurely 
caught. 

Floret,  on  the  contrary,  was* overwhelmed 
with  very  genuine  confusion,  for  when  impel- 
led bv  the  impulses  of  along,deeply-ch*rietied 
love,  and  of  joy  to  find  it  so  ardently  and 
truthfully  reciprocated,  she  threw  heieeif  into 
the  opened  arms  of  Victor,  he 

"Did  much  what  you  would  do, 
His  youcg  lips  thanked  her  with  a  graceful  kiss"— 
not  a  very  long  one,  for  the  unexpected  en- 
tran«e  ot  the  Countess  interfered  with  its  du 
ration,  and  prevented  what  might  have  prov- 
ed   a    very    exquidte    intercommunion    of 
thoughts  and  acknowledgments. 

Poor  FJoret  I  Within  her  racollection  the 
lips  of  a  male  bad  never  been  pressed  to  here. 
D-iddy  Windy,  during  her  childhood,  when  at 
times  fuller  than  usual  of  gin  and  water  and 
tobacco,  would  feel  pareut-il  emotions  of  hffec 
lion  bteal  over  him.  Regarding  her  aweet 


fiico  with  an  approving  eye,  ho  would  conde- 
scend to  profier  her  a  chaste  salute  ;  b  t  she 
invariably  shrunk  from  him  wi^h  lonibicg  and 
haughty  indigaation.  Li  per  L°per  had  ut  all 
times  approached  her  with  a  singular  respect, 
and  he  had  never  permitted  a  forward  boy, 
who  gazed  with  longing  eye  upon  her  peachy 
cheek,  with  deigns  upon  its  bloom,  to  come 
near  her. 

So,  when  Victor  drew  her  fondly  to  hia 
breast  and  imprinted  the  aforesaid  "  grateful 
kiss",  a  ne«f  sensation  stole  over  her,  tweet, 
delicious— indescribable. 

Ay — indescribable!    For  who  shall  be  able 
to  put  into  words  the  emotions  which,  on  re-  \ 
ceiving  tbe  fin- 1  kiss  of  pure  and  passionate  ;. 
love  darting  down  ; 

"  Dawn  to  the  heart  through  lips  and  hreath," 
is  felt  by  a  young  and  iniioceLt  girl  ?  We  are 
sure  that  we  are  quite  unable  to  depict  in  any 
hnguage  that  which  has  no  voice;  end  we 
are  equally  sure  that  no  one  e?ee  knows  any- 
thing about  the  matter,  so  as  to  apvly  describe 
it,  but  the  one  who  baa 

41  Loved  and  Buffered." 

Even  she  would  not  attempt  tbe  taek,  al- 
though ebe  remembers  the  eeubauon  eo  well— 
ah,  so  well ! 

Floret,  outwardly,  was  bewildered,  trem- 
bling, confused,  and  her  cheek  wore  the  color 
of  an  expanded  moss  rose.  She  looked  fright- 
ened, too,  arid  displayed  evident,  eigno  of  run- 
ning from  the  room,  but  that  Lord  Victor—- 
we shall  continue  to  call  him  by  that  title- 
interfered  (o  prevent  her. 

But  what  oid  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh 
say?  How  did  she  lock  ?  What  did  she  do? 

To  their  utter  eurprise,  and  to  the  restora 
tion  of  their  faculties,  she  burd  into  a  wild  and 
paeeionate  fit  of  weeping. 

Tkey  both  regarded  her  in  astonished  si- 
lence, uniil  Fiorst,  perceiving  how  convulsed 
was  her  frame,  approached  Jber,  and  timidly 
taking  ter  hand,  begged  her  to  explain  the 
cause  of  her  tears. 

Abashed  and  frightened  at  her  own  instinc- 
tive acknowledgment  of  the  love  ebe  here  for 
Victor,  8De  was  afraid  thatebe  had  committed 
a  fault  eo  drtaoml,  that  it  bed  brou»>iit  this 
flood  of  tears  to  the  eyes  of  tbe  Cjuu't  83.  She 
did  not  herself  think  the  fault,  if  f*ult  if,  »ere, 
so  very  dreadful ;  but  ehe  was  prep  red  to  ask 
pardon  for  if-,  and  promise  cot  to  b«  gu'Jry  of 
the  weakness— not  wicktdLess,  the  would  not 
admit  tbtt — any  more,  if  she  could  >*)p  i?. 

She  did  not  proceed  so  far  as  to  tay  ibis.,  al- 
though ebe  tuougut  it;  for  ibe  <Jv>UQfe*8 
quickly  dried  her  tears,  and,  hiljirg  out  a 
huixi  to  each,  said,  as  ehe  prte#eii  ibeira  : 

'Pardon  my  weakness;  the  tight  <  f  your 
happiueas  caused  me  to  imagine  what  trice 
inicbt  hiV«  bceo,  Aid  to  remember 
been!" 

Sbe  »ighe4  deeply,  and  then 

41  Viotor.  >ou  ale  a  nob/e 
of  the  moat  devo'ed  and  unallowed  1  ve  of  the 
faireet  and  truest  womau  iu  Uie  woild.    Muy 


1U 


HAGAK,  LOt ; 


the,  in  her  future  integrity  prove,  what  her 
youog  life  has  already  foreshadowed,  as  spot- 
less as  she  is  fair.  You  mnst  remember  that 
I  am  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  people,  and  I 
appreciate  your  honorable  abandonment  of 
erery  consideration  but  that  of  having  an  in- 
nocent and  true  woman  as  the  partner  of  your 
happiness,  and  the  depository  of  your  love.  I 
congratulate  you  both." 

She  kissed  Floret  tenderly  on  both  cheeks, 
and  with  a  smile,  and  in  a  soft,  enthusiastic 
tone,  which  made  Floret's  heart  leap,  she 
said : 

i  "  And  the  Poor  Girl  will  be  a  Great  Lady 
yet." 

The  Countess  then  acknowledged  to  them 
that  she  had  reached  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment as  Lord  Victor  made  bis  declarat:on  to 
Floret,  and  as  she  was  anxious  to  hear  what 
he  would  say,  she  paused  there.  If  his  pro- 
posals had  been  of  such  a  nature  that  Floret 
ought  to  have  spurned  them,  it  was  her  inten- 
tion to  have  interfered,  and  to  have  sternly  re- 
buked him  for  his  wickedness  ;  but  when  she 
ascertained  that  his  purpose  was  an  honora- 
ble one,  she  remained  quiet  until  that  eloquent 
embrace  took  place,  and  then  she  "  discovered 
check". 

She  then  questioned  Floret  closely  respect- 
ing the  causes  which  led  her  to  quit  her  roof 
eo  abruptly,  and  begged  her  to  communicate 
to  her  fill  that  had  occurred  to  her  since  they 
had  been  separated. 

Floret  complied  without  reserve,  because 
she  believed  the  affection  which  the  Countess 
professed  for  her  to  be  genuine,  and  her  inter- 
eat  in  her  successful  future  disinterested  ;  for 
if  she  succeeded,  it  was  clear  the  Countess 
must  prove  a  heavy  sufferer. 

The  Countess  was  not  a  little  amazed  to  find 
Floret  in  possession  of  the  stolen  register  of 
the  marBiage  between  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh 
and  the  Marchioness  of  Westchester ;  but  she 
was  yet  more  astounded  to  learn  that  Fanny 
Shelley  was  living.  An  expression  of  trium- 
phant joy  passed  over  her  flushed  features, 
and  an  exclamation  of  such  intense  gratifica- 
tion escaped  her  lips,  that  it  attracted  the  no- 
tice both  of  Floret  and  Lord  Victor.  They  ex- 
changed looks. 

Presently,  taking  advantage  of  a  pause  in 
the  conversation,  Floret  said,  hesitatingly  : 

"  Pardon  me,  Lady  Brackleigh,  if  I  make 
the  suggestion  that  your  efforts  to  prove  the 
marriage  of — of — my— of  Miss  Constance 
Plantagenet  with  Lennox  Bertram,  and  the  es- 
tablishment of  my  claim  to  be  the  legitimate 
offspring  of  that  marriage,  tends  to  a  species 
of  self  immolation." 

"And  if  it  does,  what  then?"  inquired  the 
Countess,  sternly. 

'  "  I  would  ask  humbly,"  the  returned—"  for 
I  feel  as  though  I  were  in  some  way  a  par- 
ticipator in  the  wrong  done  to  yoa — where- 
fore you  are  desirous  of  throwing  away  your 
position,  and  of  giving  to  the  world  the  power 
of  saying  many  cruel  and  unkind  thicga  of 
you!" 


" Not  cruel  find  unkind  things  of  me,"  in- 
terposed the  Countess,  hastily  ;  "  the  world 
will  compassionate — will  pity  me." 

"I  would  rather  perish  in  miserable  ob- 
scurity than  be  pitied!"  exclaimed  Floret, 
with  a  sudden  gesture  of  lofty  scorn.  And 
then  she  added,  in  a  quieter  tone,  "You 
would  cease  to  be  Lady  Brackleigh  were  the 
clandestine  marriage  to  be  substantiated,  would 
you  not  ?  You  would  return  to  your  father's 
home  broken-spirited,  humiliated,  and  un- 
happy r 

Not  more  broken-spirited,  humiliated,  cr 
miserable  than  I  am  now."  %x 

"  But  it  would  be  so  ?"  persisted  Floret, 

"  Ifc  would,"  returned  the  Countess. 

"  Then  do  not  sacrifice  your  rank  and  fame 
for  me,  I  implore  you,"  she  urged,  with  an 
earnest  anxiety,  that  could  not  be  mi&iuter- 
preted. 

The  Countesa  regarded  her  steadfastly. 

"  You  ai-e  a  strange  girl,  Floret,"  sbe  ex- 
claimed. "Up  to  the  present  moment,  you 
have  evinced  the  most  passionate  desire  to  be 
acknowledged  as  the  lawful  daughter  of  the 
Marchioness  and  the  Earl,  and  now  you  entreat 
me  not  to  take  the  steps  which  are  necessary 
to  accomplish  that  wish." 

"Understand  me,  Lady  Brackleigh,"  ob- 
served Floret,  in  reply.  "  I  am  most  anxious 
— I  have  no  words  to  describe  how  anxious  I 
am — to  be  acknowledged  by  those  who  are 
my  parents.  But  now  that  I  can  comprehend 
in  what  position  that  acknowledgment  would 
not  only  place  the  innocent  but  the  guilty,  I 
shrink  from  requiring  more  from  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Westchester  than  an  admission, 
made  to  me  personally  and  in  private,  that 
she  is  the  Constance  'Neville  named  in  the 
register  which  I  have  in  my  possession,  that 
the  Lennox  Bertram  there  mentioned  is  now 
Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  that  I  am  their 
child." 

"  Would  you  be  content  now,  Floret,  after 
what  has  passed  a  few  minutes  back  between 
yourself  and  Lord  Victor,  to  let  the  world  be- 
lieve you  to  be  a  creature  without  a  pedigree," 
asked  the  Countess,  sharply. 

Floret  red&enly  deeply. 

"I  am  deeply  grateful  to  the  Marquis  of 
Broadlands  for  the  honor  he  has  proposed  to 
confer  upon  me,"  she  returned,  in  a  low 
voice  ;  "  but  he  has  generously  permitted  me 
to  choose  my  own  time  for  a  reply  to  that 
proposition,  and  I  think  it  would  be  both  un- 
gracious and  unjust  to  him,  if  I  were  for  an 
instant  to  withhold  the  expression  of  my  de- 
termination to  be  governed  by  the  result  of  a 
last  appeal  to  the  Marchioness." 

"  What  if  it  should  succeed  ?"  suggested  the 
Countess,  rapidly. 

"  I  should  force  myself  to  be  content  with 
any  arrangement  she  might  propose,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  What  are  your  suppositions  respecting  that 
arrangement  ?"  inquired  the  Countess.  "  You 
have,  no  doubt,  already  considered  the  form  it 
would  take." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


175 


"  I  have,"  retarned  Floret,  with  some  em- 
barrassment. "  I  believe  that  it  is  out  of  the 
power  of  the  Marchioness  to  openly  and  pub- 
licly acknowledge  me  without  destroj ing  her- 
self, greatly  injuring  the  Earl,  and  ruining 
your  ladyship's  present  position ;  while  my 
own  position,  were  I  to  enter  society,  would  be 
most  trying  and  painful  to  me.  I  should  be 
the  target  for  every  eye  ;  the  butt  for  every 
sneering,  scornful,  insulting  gibe  or  compas- 
sionate tauut.  A  public  acknowledgment 
would  thus  ciily  injure  those  whcm  I  would 
not  for  the  world  harm,  while  it  would  win  no 
credit  for  myself.  I  know  that  justice  should 
bo  inexorable,  that  einfulness  should  be  open- 
ly exposed  and  publicly  punished  ;  but  I  am 
human,  and  I  cannot  arm  the  law  to  strike 
down  from  theii  places  in  society  those  whom 
the  ties  of  Nature,  the  mere  instincts  of  hu- 
manity, teach  me  to  look  up  to  with  filial  ten- 
derness, and  to  preserve  from  danger  whenever 
the  power  to  do  eo  is  intrusted  to  me." 
fc  "What,"  again  interposed  the  Countess, 
"  can  you  think,  and  feel,  and  would  you  act 
thus,  after  the  cruel  sufferings  you  have  en- 
dured, and  the  terrible  temptations  to  which 
you  have  been  exposed  by  the  very  person 
who  should  have  nurtured  you  and  cherished 
you  as  the  rarest,  dearest,  and  meet  delicate 
gift  which  Heaven  had  presented  to  her  ?" 
I  "  O  Lady  Brackleigh,"  replied  Floret,  com- 
pressing her  hands,  "  if  she  outlooks  upon  me 
tenderly,  speaks  to  me  gently,  and  owns  that 
1  am  her  own  beloved  child,  although  she 
dare  iiot  acknowledge  so  much  to  the  world,  I 
can  wittingly— nay,  with  joy,  forgive  all  the 
niiaeries  I  Lave  experienced  through  being 
discarded  by  her.  Besides,  Lady  Brackleigh, 
the  law  of  retaliation  is,  you  know,  not  a  law 
based  upon  reason  or  justice.  The  fact  that 
niy  parent  has  from  my  infancy  disowned  me, 
•gives  me  no  right  to  attempt  to  effect  her  de- 
struction." 

'  "Floret!"  again  interrupted  the  Countess, 
impatiently,  and  somewhat  angrily,  "  you  are 
teasoning  childishly.  "What,  Indeed,  should 
you  know  of  the  demands  of  society,  or  what 
the  laws  of  social  morality  exact  ?  How  can 
you  attempt  to  reason  for  Lady  Westchester, 
or  think  for  me  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  your 
gentle  tenderness,  your  susceptible  sympa- 
thies, or  the  generous  tendencies  of  your  for- 
giving nature,  can  arrest  the  progress  of  the 
great  machine  of  retribution,  which  is  rolling 
on  to  its  destination?  You  have  passed 
through  a  life — a  young  life  it  is  true — sur- 
rounded by  pitfalls,  snares,  and  evils  of  a  kind 
too  horrible  to  think  of  calmly,  without  sin, 
with  purity  of  feeling,  and  integrity  of  pur- 
pose ;  but  to  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,  and 
though  you  have  witnessed  some  of  the  worst 
phases  of  life,  and  have  undergone  some  of 
its  hardest  teachings,  you  have  yet  much  to 
learn.  You  are  but  old  enough  as  yet  to  rea- 
son by  feeling— I  do  so  by  experience.  You 
must  leave  to  me,  as  one  of  the  individuals 
most  deeply  affeoted  by  your  acknowledg- . 
ment,  the  control  of  the  plans  by  which  your 


birth  and  parentage  shall  l-e  made  known,  ia 
a  manner  which  shall  not  leave  to  the  invidi- 
ous a  single  eneer.  You  exhibit  far  more  filial 
tenderness  than  your  unnatural  mother  could 
possibly  hope  to  expect  from  you,  and  for 
which  she  entertains  neither  sympathy  nor  re- 
spect. I  entertain  both,  and  although  I  con- 
fess to  have  been  at  first  animated  by  the 
most  vindictive  feelings  against  the  Marchion- 
ess of  Westchester,  and  stimulated  by  feelings 
of  revenge  to  drag  her  down  from  the  false 
elevation  upon  which  she  so  unjustly  stands, 
I  ohall  henceforward,  in  consideration  of  ycur 
feelirgs,  your  interests,  and  your  future  posi- 
tion in  life,  act  in  such  a  manner  as  to  shield 
you  from  contumelious  opinions,  while  I  firm- 
ly establish  your  rights. 

Floret,  although  she  felt  a  strong  disinclina- 
tion to  surrender  to  Lady  Brackleigh  the  en- 
tire management  of  her  case,  perceived  that 
she  had  no  real  ground  for  offering  any  oppc* 
sition  to  her  claim  to  its  control ;  but  she  in- 
wardly resolved  to  interfere  if  she  saw  that 
the  Countess,  in  spite  of  what  she  had  ad- 
vanced, really  sought  the  social  destruction 
of  her  mother. 

The  Countess  then,  with  a  calmness  which 
was  perhaps  the  result  of  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  wrongs  she  hed  suffered,  and  the  position 
in  which  she  stood,  reviewed  all  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  the  firet  connection 
between  the  Marchioness  and  Bertram,  the 
subsequent  second  marriages  of  the  pair,  andt 
the  evidence  existing  upon  it,  and  arrived  still 
at  the  same  conclusion  as  before,  that  the  link 
which  would  complete  the  full  chain  of  evi- 
dence to  establish  the  birth  of  Floret  was  Fan- 
ny Shelley. 

It  was  necessary  that  she  should  remember 
all  that  had  transpired  while  she  was  living 
with  Constance  Plantagenet,  prior  to  the  clan- 
destine marriage,  and  subsequent  to  it,  even 
up  to  the  moment  of  quitting  her  with  the 
child. 

The  Countess  expressed  a  very  strong  wish 
to  see  and  examine  Fanny ;  but  Floret  sug- 
gested that  it  would  be  better  for  herself  to 
visit  her  constantly  during  the  recovery  of  her 
strength,  so  that,  es  she  grew  accustomed  to 
the  sight  of  her,  she  might  be  able  gradually 
to  lead  her  into  the  knowledge  of  who  she 
really  was — that  she  was  the  child  of  her  fos- 
ter-sister, and  not  the  foster-sister  herself. 

The  Countesa  acknowledged  the  prudenc* 
of  this  suggestion,  and  declared  her  readiness 
to  conform  to  it ;  but  she  endeavored  at  the  / 
same  time  to  extort  from  Floret  a  promise  tec  ' 
take  up  her  abode  with  her  at  Brackleigh  Man- 
sion, not  only  until  she  was  acknowledged  as- 
the  daughter  of  the  Earl,  but  until  she  be- 
eaine  a  marchioness  herself. 

Floret  objected,  with  blushing  cheeks,  but 
scarcely  with  the  vehemence  with  which  Lord 
Victor  opposed  the  arrangement,  and  he  sue* 
cessfully  argued  the  Countess  out  of  the  propo- 
sition, although  he  consented  to  911  arrange- 
ment that  Floret  should  visit  her  occasional- 
ly, at  periods  when  he  and  his  cousin,  Lady 


176 


nAGAR  LOT  ; 


,  should  J5  present  The  Countess  then 
red  tnat  ehe  would  be  purse-bearer  to 
Floret,  and  insisted  that  ehe  should  fcupply 
her  with  the  means  of  living  until  she  became 
possessed  by  her  inoiaputaole  right  to  prop- 
erty of  heroin. 

This  prefer,  however,  Floret  gently,  but 
firmly  refused. 

••  I  m  iat  be  independent  of  all  the  world," 
ehe  exclaimed.  "  I  have  the  skill  to  labor, 
and  the  strength,  and  will  do  it(  and  I  will 
euppcrfc  myself  by  the  labor  of  my  hands  un- 
til 1  eecure  that  income  which,  as  your  lady- 
ship asserts,  will  be  mine  by  right." 

44  Floret,  this  cannot  be,"  exclaimed  Lord 
Victor,  gravaly.  "  There  is  now  no  doubt  of 
your  o-'igin,  end  your  right  ia  as  clear,  though 
not  yet-established,  as  it  will  ever  be.  As  the 
daugnter  of  an  earl,  it  will  not  become  you  to 
work  like—" 

"SUy,  my  lord  I"  interrupted  Floret,  with 
a  fluab.  upon  her  cheek,  a  gutter  in  her  eye, 
and  a  sudden  assumption  of  a  proud  and  dig- 
nified manner.  "  Independence  of  spirit  and 
integrity  of  purpoto  command  an  elevation  of 
position  which  no  mere  personal  title  can  give. 
The  poorest  woik-girl  breathing,  who  parts 
with  a  modiaum  of  her  life  every  one  of  those 
loot?*  Ion.?  days  and  weary  nights  in  which  she 
works,  may  claim  to  be  prouder  of  her  posi- 
tion than  any  pensioner  who  subsists  upon 
bounty,  to  which,  she  fancies  she  is  entitled 
besau^e  she  is  by  birth  a  gentlewoman.  I 
ep«ak  not  of  the  helple*e,  but  of  the  indolent. 
The  bread  won  by  individual  exertion  is  sweet, 
because  a  full  equivalent  haa  been  given  for 
it — alas  !  how  very  much  more  ia  constantly 
exae^d!  but  that  which  is  doled  out  to  the 
dependent  can  only  be  swallowed  with  a  sense 
of  me*noe*s  and  humility,  from  the  visidnga 
of  which  I  hope  ever  to  be  spared.  Lord 
Victor,  there  is  nothing  shameful— nay,  there 
is  nothing  nobler  than  honest  labor.  If  it 
should  i base  Htaven  to  place  me  in  the  posi- 
tion to  which  my  birth  entitles  me,  I  shall 
r  ever  feel  so  proud  of  it  as  I  did  when  I  re- 
«tived  the  first  pajment  for  labor  done  be- 
B*-atb,  ttrs  roof,  or  for  the  few  shillings  which 
were  ptid  to  n.e,  after  toiling  from  dawn  until 
lopg  p-.»r,  midnight,  in  my  recent  squalid  home. 
To.ir  itttk  my  Lord,  is  an  easy  one;  if  you 
obj-ct  to  hold  communion  with  one  whose 
giearept  demerit  is  that  she  ia  poor,  you  can 
6 i' ief y  >  our  inclination  by  mixing  only  in  a 
wealthier  and  more  congenial  society.  I  am 
too  proud  to  be  dependent—  lam  f*r  too  proud 
to  receive  i>elp  w ben  I  can  help  myself,  and, 
b«?ond  tbis,  I  am  too  proud  of  what  I  h*ve 
dune,  tver  to  look  back  upon  the  period  when 
I  w  <ti  an  embroiderers,  or  a  poor  artificial 
flornr.,  with  any  other  emotion  than  self-grat- 
U'utioo;  aod,  let  me  add,  I  shall  never  hold 
any  fueling  in  common  with  those  who  nourish 
for  u  e  H  »•«  B«  of  humiliation  at  the  recollec- 
tioa  that  I  was  once— a  work-girl." 

F  ortc  opoke  with  much  animation  and 
WM  oath  ;  Lord  Victor  evidently  felt  stung  by 
htr  rtJiLurks,  and  he  eaid,  hastily : 


"  Floret,  forgive  me.  You  are  right — I  was 
wrong.  I  was  anxious  to  save  you  from  a  toil 
whieh  is  unnecessary  ;  but  as  a  matter  of  feel* 
ing  it  ia  better  that  you  should  preserve  your 
independence.  I  am  quite  aware  that  you 
could  not  properly  accept  pecuniary  assist- 
ance irom  me,  and  Lady  Brackleigh  will  cam- 
prehend  with  a  proper  spirit,  I  am  sure,  why 
you  decline  it  from  her.  We  will,  therefore, 
pass  over  that  subject,  and  proceed  to  some 
pleasanter  topic." 

But  at  this  moment  Ida  entered  the  room, 
full  of  healthful  spirits,  which  she  endeavored, 
with  a  very  weak  result,  to  keep  under  con- 
trol. She  said  that,  wkile  out  with  Mrs.  Spen- 
cer on  business,  they  had,  by  the  strangest  ac- 
cident, met  with  the  Honorable  II}  de  Vaugh- 
an,  who  had  no  sooner  heard  tJat  Floret  had 
returned  home,  than  he  expressed  his  great 
6at.it- faction  at  the  circumstance,  especially  ai 
he  said  that  he  had  some  questions  of  the  very 
greatest  importance  to  put  to  her. 

"But,"  continued  Ida,  rattling  on  without 
thought,  "  when  I  asked  him  what  they  were, 
and  v*  better  I  should  put  them  to  you  for  kirn, 
he  said,  No  ;  that  he  could  only  ask  them  o< 
you  himself,  and  eo  he  said  he  would  re  tun 
here  with  us,  but  Mrs.  Spencer  told  him  w« 
were  going  shopping,  and  he  said  he  would 
go  shopping,  too  ;  and  to  he  did,  and— and 
as — he  declared  that  the  conversation  of  a 
child  was  only  at  times  interesting,  and  that 
the  remarks  of  elderly  ladies  were,  if  ecifyingi 
not  without  a  suspicion  of  proeicees,  he  eug- 
gested  that  Mrs.  Spencer  end  little  Meal* 
should  walk  together,  because  the  ideas  oi 
childhood  and  eld  age  approach  each  other^ 
and  that  he  and  I—" 

She  paused  abruptly,  not  alone  because  eh€ 
perceived  a  curious  smile  upon  Floret's  face, 
but  because  Lord  Victor's  laugh  was  audiblev 

Neck  and  face  became  inetantly  crimson, 
and  she  looked  hastily  from  one  to  the  other, 
as  if  she  were  conscious  that  she  had  commit- 
ted seme  fault,  although  she  did  not  exactly 
know  what  it  was. 

"  Why  do  you  pause  ?"  inquired  Floret,  a 
little  archly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  responded  Ida,  still  gazing 
inquiringly  at  Lord  Victor. 

44  You  were  about  to  say  that  Vaughan  sug- 
gested that  he  should  walk  with  YOU  r  ecau&d 
your  ideas  would  approach  each,  other." 

"Ye— es,"  replied  Ida,  with  confusion^ 
"  But,"  she  added,  hastily,  "  Mr.  Vaughan  ia 
below :  I  will  request  him  to  come  op." 

Before  any  objec  ion  could  be  tendered,  she 
flew  out  of  the  room,  more  to  hide  her  burn- 
ing checks  than  to  fulfill  the  mission  she  had 
undertaken,  for  she  intrusted  it  to  Mrs  Spen- 
cer, and  retreated  to  that  good  lady's  bed- 
chamber. 

Hyde  Vaughan  entered  the  room  immedi- 
ately after  Mrs.  Spencer  had  communicated 
with  him ;  and,  while  offering  his  congratula- 
tions to  Floret,  he  oast  his  ejes  about  to  see 
where  Ida  had  placed  herself,  but  she  was  not 
visible,  and  a  question  respecting  her  elicited 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


177 


from  Victor  the  information — that  she  had 
quitted  the  room  in  search  of  him. 

"  A  very  remarkable  circumstance  has  oc- 
curred," said  Hyde  Vaughan,  as  closing  the 
room  door,  he  placed  bis  back  against  it ; 
"  and  it  has  immediate  reference  to  Miss  Ida. 
She  always/  refuses  me  I  er  surname,"  he  ad- 
ded, parejftheticalJy,  looking  fixedly  at  Floret. 
•'  Perhaps,  Miss  Floret,  you  will  supply  it  to 
me?" 

Floret  felt  the  color  rise  in  her  cheeks, 
for  at  the  moment  she  was  in  the  same  condi- 
tion. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  But  you  were  at  school  together  ?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  Yes  ;  for  three  years,"  responded  Floret ; 
"  but  the  young  ladies  there  were  only  known 
by  their  Christian  names." 

"  No  other  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  By  no  other  "  she  answered. 

"How  very  odd!"  he  remarked.  Then  he 
added,  hastily,  as  he  observed  Floret's  height- 
ened color :  "  Perhaps,  however,  that  fact  may 
tend  to  confirm  an  impression  that  I  have 
formed,  and  which  may  have  great  as  well  as 
singular  results.  Having  taken  a— a — consid- 
erable— a  great — a — personal  interest  in  Miss 
Ida —  'Ptihawldo  no";  grin  at  me,  Victor,  in 
that  self-satisfied  fashion,  you  will  put  me  out," 
he  added,  a  little  pettishly,  as  he  observed 
Lord  Victor  smile.  "  I— I  say — I — where  was 
I — 0! — circumstances  of  a  very  remarkable 
character  having  introduced  me  to  you  and  to 
Hies  Ida,  and  events  equally  strange  having 
parted  and  rejoined  us,  I  confess  I  have  felt  a 
deep  interest  in  the  future  prospects  of  you 
both-" 

"Especially  of  Miss  Ida," suggested  Lord 
Victor,  pointedly. 

"  Very  well — yes,"  rejoined  Hyde  Vaughan. 
"But,  hang  it,  Victor,  don't  jest  on  this  sub- 
ject, for  it  is  very  serious,  I  assure  you.  Well, 
I  have  been  lately  thrown — well,  Victor,  have 
thrown  mj  self  lately  much  in  the  way  of  Miss 
Ida,  if  you  like  that  better." 

"  It  was  so  much  nearer  the  truth,'1  quietly 
remarked  Lord  Victor. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Vaughan,  "and 
having  thrown  myself  in  the  way  of  Miss  Ida, 
znany  conversations  have  ensued  between  us, 
during  one  of  which  she  informed  me  that  she 
was  placed  at  a  school,  bearing  the  curious 
title  of  Utfglebarnby  House,  at  Uggiebarnby, 
in  Yorkshire.  Now  it  so  happened  that,  as  I 
felt  personally  interested  in  the  future  of  Misa 
Ida,  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  interest  my 
mother  and  sister  in  it  also.  I  gave  them  a 
brief  sketch  of  her  history,  and  named  the 
i  place  in  which  ehe  had  been  reared  and  edu 
joated.  Since  that  revelation  a  very  remark 
able  event  has  happened  which  I  cannot  at 
present  reveal,  but  which  you  shall  all  be 
made  acquainted  with,  if  success  should  at- 
tend certain  inquiries  I  have  undertaken  to 
make,  both  of  j  ou,  Miss  Floret,  and  of  others. 
Will  you  tell  me  whether  Miss  Ida  was  at  Ug- 
ulebarnby  House  when  you  were  placed 


there?" 

"  She  was,"  answered  Floret. 

"  And  had  been  there  long  ?''  he  inquired. 

"From  her  childhood,  I  believe,'  he  re- 
plied. 

"She  did  not  quit  the  house  to  visit  any 
relatives  or  friends  while  you  were  there*  did 
she?" 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Floret,  promptly. 

"You  are  quite  sure  of  this?"  pursued 
Vaufthan. 

'•  Quite  sure,"  returned  Floret. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  person  who 
kept  the  school?"  he  asked. 

"  Biixenfin*k,"  replied  Floret;  "they 
were  sisters— the  Misses  Ate  and  Sycorax 
Blixenfinik." 

Hyde  Vaughan  referred  to  a  card. 

"  That  is  the  name,"  he  said,  and  added  : 
"  And  Ida  quitted  that  place  with  you  some 
few  months  since  ?'' 

"  She  did.  We  were  on  our  way  to  Lon- 
don, when  you,  Sir,  in  company  with  Lord 
Victor,  made  an  effort  to  rescue  us,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  It  must  be  the  same,"  he  mused.  Then 
he  continued :  "  Do  you  know  anything  more 
of  her  history  than  what  is  comprised  in  the 
uimple  fact  of  your  having  been  at  school  to- 
gether?" j 

"  I  do  not,"  replied  Floret. 

"  Did  the  Misses  Blixenfinik  at  any  time,  in 
speaking  of  her  to  you,  by  any  chance  men- 
tion any  of  her  relatives  or  friends  If"  he  in- 
terrogated. 

"  Never,"  replied  Floret.  "  It  was  not  their 
cufctom  to  name,  under  any  circumstances, 
any  matter  which  had  reference  to  the  private 
relations  of  any  of  us.  It  was  deemed  enough 
for  us  that  we  were  thrown  together,  and  had 
each  a  name  to  distinguish  us  from  the  herd. 
As  I,  too,  am  personally  interested  in  the  fa- 
ture  of  Ida,"  she  added,  gravely,  "I  regard 
myself  as  her  sincere,  perhaps  her  only  friend. 
May  I  inquire  your  object  in  putting  these 
questions  to  me  ?" 

"  You  certainly  are  not  Ida's  only  friend, 
Miss  Floret,"  exclaimed  Hyde  Vaughan,  a  lit- 
tle briskly  ;  "  and  what's  more,  not  only  her 
sin  cere  friend.  However,  you  are  her  dear — 
that  is,  one  of  her  dearest  friends  and  yon 
are  certainly  entitled  to  put  that  question  to 
me.  Facts  are  stranger  than  fiction,  and  curi- 
ously, as  I  have  been  introduced  to  Ida,  it  ia 
yet  more  curious  that  I  should  be  the  means  oi 
discovering  her  parentage." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Floret  and  Victor  to- 
gether. 

"That  is,"  he  subjoined,  checking  himself, 
"  I  fully  expect  that  I  shall  be.  I  may  men- 
tion that  my  mother  has  a  relative,  who  for 
many  years  has  been  the  inmate  of  a  lunatic 
asylum,  where  she  was  barbarously  placed  by 
an  officer  in  the  Array,  who  had  married  her 
secretly  and  afterward  deserted  her.  His 
cruelty  and  desertion  deprived  her  of  her  rea- 
son, and  it  eould  never  be  ascertained  whom 
•he  had  married,  nor  where  she  had  placed  her 


178 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


child,  of^whom  she  constantly  rayed.  About 
three  years  since,  she  had  a  lucid  interval  of 
about  a  month,  but  was  then  so  depressed  and 
pensive  she  would  scarcely  speak  a  word. 
She,  however,  one  day,  asked  for  a  Bum  of 
money,  which  she  placed  in  a  parcel,  and  went 
out  with  it  alone.  As  she  was  then  quite  sen- 
sible, no  one,  at  her  request,  accompanied  her  ; 
and  when  she  returned,  she  fell  into  such  a 
series  of  fits  of  weeping,  increaaing  in  hysteri- 
cal violence,  that  her  malady  unhappily  re- 
turned, and  she  was  again  placed  under  the 
charge  of  able  attendants  in  a  private  asylum. 
After  she  was  conveyed  away,  a  letter  arrived 
for  her  from  Ugglebarnby,  Yorkshire.  It  was 
opened ;  it  proved  to  be  a  receipt  for  the  iden- 
tical sum  for  which  she  had  asked,  which  was 
given  to  her,  and  of  which  it  was  known  she 
had  disposed.  It  was  an  advance  for  the 
board  and  education  of  Miss  Ida,  and  it  was 
signed, « A.  and  S.  Blixenfinik.' " 
i  "  It  could  have  been  for  no  other  Ida  I"  ex- 
claimed Floret,  qnickly  ;  "  she  was  the  only 
young  lady  who  bore  that  Christian  name  at 
the  school,  and  I  well  remember  the  arrival  of 
the  remittance  of  which  you  speak  ;  for  in  the 
interval  between  the  expiration  of  the  sum  pre- 
viously paid,  end  that  which  was  received  soon 
after  I  was  placed  there,  she  was  very  nearly 
starved  to  death." 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  frames  of 
those  present  —  save  Floret's.  She  smiled 
faintly,  and  added : 

"  Indeed,  it  was  only  long  practice  in  absti- 
nence ft  om  food  which  sustained  her.  Just  be- 
fore we  made  our  escape  together,  I  believe 
that  both  of  us  could  have  gone  without  food 
without  any  unusual  inconvenience  for  two,  or 
even  three  days.  Lengthened  intervals,  and 
infinitesimal  doses  of  provision,  gave  to  us  the 
'power  of  enduring  very  long  fasts." 

Lord  Victor  and  Hyde  Vaughan  simulta- 
neously grated  their  teeth  together,  and  the 
latter  vowed  that  he  would  not  rest  until  he 
had  broken  up  the  accursed  school  for  living 
skeletons. 

"  I  was  sure,"  he  resumed,  "  that  I  should 
obtain  the  most  certain  clue  from  you  ;  and  the 
next  thiag  will  be  to  trace  out  the  rascally  hus- 
band who  has  behaved  BO  ill  in  this  affair.  My 
mother  has  recently  engaged  the  services  of 
the  greatest  authority  in  mental  disorders,  and 
he  gives  her  every  reason  to  believe  that  her 
cousin  will  recover  her  senses  at  no  very  dis- 
tant period,  and  that  the  recovery  will  be  per- 
manent. Tliis  will  be  a  fortunate  event,  be- 
cause recently  a  very  handsome  property  has 
accrued  to  her  from  an  uncle  on  her  father's 
side,  and  that  it  will  enable  her  to  live  not  only 
in  very  good  style,  but  it  will  enable  her  to 
bring  to  book,  if  he  is  worth  the  trouble  and 
the  money,  the  scoundrel  who  behaved  so  ill 
to  her,  I  think  it  advisable,  at  present,  not  to 
communicate  to  Ida  what  I  have  revealed  to 
you,  until  we  have  determined,  beyond  a  doubt, 
her  maternal  parentage.  I  do  not  suppose  that 
time  will  be  far  off ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  I 
&m  anxious  to  introduce  her  to  my  mother  and 


sister,  if  she  will  consent  to  accompany  f&e 
home.  Perhaps  in  the  interview  wnich  will 
ensue,  something  may  be  elicited  from  her 
which  will  clear  up  any  doubt  that  may  re- 
main. You  ladies  manage  these  little  delicate 
inquiries  so  much  better  than  we  men,  that  you 
may  possibly  bring  to  a  happy  conclusion  that 
which  I  should,  perhaps,  spoil."  4 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Ida,  unless  she  has  some 
inkling  of  the  real  object  of  the  visit  you  wish 
her  to  pay,  will  be  too  timid  to  comply  with 
your  request,"  suggested  Floret.  "  But  I  hear 
her  footstep  on  the  stair.  You  can  make  the 
proposal  to  her  when  she  comes  in." 

"No— no,"  Miss  Floret,  I  beg  of  you,"  cried 
Vaughan,  with  a  singular  embarrassment,  "  do 
not  leave  it  to  me.  I  shall  only  make  a  stupid 
mess  of  it.  You  know  what  I  wish  her  to  do, 
and  you  know  best  how  to  propose  it.  You 
will  accompany  her,  I  hope." 

Before  Floret  could  reply,  Ida  entered  the 
room.  Somehow  her  eyes  caught  those  of  Hyde 
Vaughan,  and  she  blushed  immediately.  She 
turned  hastily  to  Floret,  and  affecting  a  laugh, 
she  said : 

"Floret,  there  is  a  person  below  who 
wishes  to  see  you  on  the  most  particular  busi- 
ness, as  everybody  in  the  world  seemingly 
does." 

"  To  see  me  ?"  ejaculated  Floret,  with  sur- 
prise. 

Lord  Victor  looked  on  anxiously. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Ida.  "Do  you  remember, 
upon  an  occasion,  a  groom  interfered  to  pre- 
vent an  awfully  dirty- looking  man  behaving 
rude  to  me?" 

Floret  remembered  the  incident  in  the  cof- 
fee-shop, and  replied  readily  in  the  affirma- 
tive. 

"  He  says,"  continued  Ida,  "  that  his  name 
is  Nathaniel  Ferret,  and  he  must  see  you ;  but 
he  won't  detain  you  a  minute." 

"Nathaniel  Ferret,"  repeated  the  Countess, 
quickly;  "a  groom?" 

She  turned  to  Victor  and  Hyde  Vaughan, 
and  said,  hurriedly : 

"  Oblige  me  by  descending  to  some  room 
until  this  man  is  gone.  Do  not  let  him  see  you. 
I  believe  that  I  know  the  object  of  his  visit 
Not  a  word,  Victor,  but  go  1" 

Both  the  friends,  with  evident  reluctance, 
quitted  the  room  ;  and  as  soon  as  their  backs 
turned,  the  Countess  said,  hastily,  to  Ida : 

"  Tell  the  fellow  to  come  up  here,  but  not  a 
word  about  my  being  here  when  you  usher 
him  into  this  room.  You  can  join  Lord  Vic- 
tor and  Vaughan,  wherever  they  may  be,  un- 
til the  man  has  departed." 

Ida  did  not  quite  approve  of  this  brusque 
order,  but  as  she  had  no  conception  of  the  po- 
sition in  life  to  which  she  was  actually  entitled, 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  she  could  muster, 
and  a  cheerful  smile  on  her  beautiful  face,  ehe 
descended  to  Mr.  Nathaniel  Ferret. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Countess  glided  into 
Floret's  bed-chamber,  in  order  that  she  might 
hear  every  word  that  fell  from  Nat's  lips  ;  and 
she  had  hardly  closed  the  door  to  upon  her- 


OH,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  TOOK  GIRL. 


479 


self,  when  with  a  sly,  slow,  lurching  gait,  Nat 
ent«red  the  room,  and  made  a  kind  of  half- 
bow,  half-scrape,  and  touched  his  hair  upon 
hia  temple  to  Floret. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

"  Dreadful  post 
Of  observation  !  darker  every  hour. 


As  Nat  made  his  bow  to  Floret  he  started 
with  evident  surprise,  and,  although  it  was 
not  in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  etiquette,  a 
low  whistle  escaped  him. 

He,  however,  recovered  himself  instantly, 
and  once  again  touched  his  temple  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  I  axes  pardon,  Miss,"  he  said,  in  a  very 
subdued  voice,  and  his  most  respectful  smile, 
"  but  it  ain't  just  possible  to  look  at  you,  and 
not  see  that  you're  the  werry  spit  o'  the  lady 
as  I've  come  to  say  a  vord  or  two  to  you 
about.  You  remember  me,  Miss,  don't 
you  ?" 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before,"  returned 
Floret,  with  some  slight  hesitation.  "  It  was 
at  a—" 

"  Corfee  crib,  Miss,  ag'in  the  ra'alvay  tra- 
xnenus.  I  was  the  parvjr  who  showed  a  gin- 
ger-tufted moocher  how  to  take  'is  breakfast 
on  s  pavement,  as  a  revard  for  wexing  an' 
descouragin'  a  young  lady-friend  o'  yourn. 
I'm  the  party,  Miss,  as  gav'd  you  a  card 
v'ereon  was  written,  Natanel  Ferret  'orse  an' 
groom,  old  Bond  street.  I'm  Natanel  For- 
ret!" 

"  I  remember  the  circumstances  very  clear- 
ly," said  Floret,  "  but—" 

"  I  axed  you  to  write  to  me,  but  you  havn't, 
so  I've  cum'd  to  you,  acos  time's  gettin'  on," 
he  continued.  "  I've  seen  quite  enough  serv- 
ice. My  pimple's  a  sheddin'  its  coat,  an'  '11 
soon  become  like  a  bladder  o'  lard.  A  pub- 
lic-'ouse  as  I've  'ad  my  hi  on  for  a  werry  long 
per'od  '11  soon  be  in  the  market,  an'  savin' 
your  presence,  a  little  fair  an'  putty  filly,  as  is 
agoin'  to  run  in  double  harness  vith  me—  a 
werry  well  matched  pair  ve  shall  make,  I 
'spec's  —  is  werry  anxious  to  make  start  on 
it—" 

"  You  must  excuse  me,"  said  Floret,  with 
an  inquiring  and  bewildered  lock  at  him. 
"  But  I  do  not  quite  understand  what  I 
can  possibly  have  to  do  with  your  arrange- 
ments." 

)  "  Ah  I  bnt  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  ;  yon 
have  werry  muca  do  with  my  arrange- 
ments," he  returned.  "The  public  'ouse 
and  the  fair  party  can't  be  'ad  by  your  werry 
respeckful  an'  'urable  eervjTkt  to  co-i.>acd 
Nacanel  Ferret,  unless  jo\i  perwides  the 
means." 

"  The  means  !"  repeated  Floret,  with  aston- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  vich,  translated  into  English, 
means  the  brads,"  rejoined  Nat,  "  or,  vulgarly 
speaking,  the  money." 

'*  The  money,"  echoed  Floret,  more  bewil- 
dered than  ever  ;  "  I  have  no  money  ;  and  if  I 


had,  I  do  not  see  what  claim  you  have  upon 
it." 

«  Yes,  I  'are,  Miss,  ae  I  rill  quickly  show 
you,"  returned  Nat,  with  a  knowing  nod  and 
a  confident  wink  of  the  eye.  He  saw,  however, 
that  she  regarded  him  with  a  haughty  mien, 
which,  having  often  seen  in  people  of  high 
birth,  he  pretty  well  comprehended — he  there- 
fore added  :  "  I  vishes  to  be  werry  'speckful 
to  you,  Miss,  and  if  I  should  get  a  foot  over 
the  traces,  pull  me  up  short  Miss,  if  you 
please." 

She  made  him  no  reply,  but  turned  her  head 
away  as  if  in  disgust. 

He  observed  the  movement,  and  he  quickly 
brought  her  head  round  again  by  half-a-dozen 
words. 

*'  Ven  I  vas  a  lad,  I  wur  groom  to  the  WI- 
count  Bertram,"  he  said. 

She  turned  her  face  instantly  toward 
him.  He  gave  a  significant  smile,  and  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  The  Wicount  was  a  werry  'ansome  gentle- 
men, an'  he  was  thought  a  good  deal  on  by  the 
ladies,  but  more  'specially  by  a  Miss  Plantag- 
genet,  whose  werry  picter  you  are  as  she  was 
then.  Veil,  Miss,  von  night  I  wus  in  the  Wi- 
count's  apartment  a  writin'  a  letter  to  my  dear 
old  mother,  poor  soul !— ah,  she's  gone,  Miss  I 
a  havelanch  elided  off  a  dust-heap  von  morn- 
ing as  she  wus  werry  busy  below  it  a  vorkin* 
industriously  for  her  daily  bread,  an'  smother- 
ed her — but  that  ain't  no  then  to  you,  so  I'll  go 
on  vith  my  story.  Veil,  Miss,  the  Wicount 
orvays  objected  to  my  usin'  his  paper,  an* 
pens  an'  ink,  an'  vile  I  wus  in  the  middle  o* 
my  letter  I  'eered  his  quick  foot  a  dancin* 
along  the  passage,  an'  afore  I  could  think  vot 
I  vos  doin',  I  bolted  into  a  closet  vich  vas  in 
the  chamber,  an'  shut  myself  in,  a  'opiri'  that 
the  Wicount  vould  werry  soon  hook  it  ag'in, 
he  did  not ;  for  afore  he  had  seated  hieself 
down  two  ininnits,  the  room-door  opens,  and 
there  wus  instantly  much  rustlin'  o'  eilk. 
Vich,  Miss,  at  that  'ere  moment  I  found  the 
cupboard  so  'ot  I  wus  obliged  to  open  the 
door  of  nay  apartment  a  little,  to  get  a  trifle  o' 
hair.  Through  that  'ere  little  crack  I  seed 
Miss  Plantaggenet  looking  as  vite  as  a  plaster 
himage,  and  her  eye  flashing  like  that  of  a 
thorough-bred  colt  wot's  uneasy  in  its  mind. 
She  sptke  to  him  as  if  he'd  greatly  worrited 
her,  and  eke  called  him  a  willin,  which  he  said 
he  warn't,  for  he'd  wooed  her  'onnerable,  an' 
he'd  married  her." 

" Married  her!"  echoed  Floret,  intensely  in- 
terested in  his  communication,  couched  though 
it  was  in  such  execrable  English. 

She  understood  it  perfectly,  however.  She 
had  Heard  that  species  of  idiomatic  talk  too 
oiten  not  to  be  able  to  interpret  it. 

"  Ay,  married  her,  Mies,"  continued  Nat. 

"  An'  fis  to  prove  his  yords  she  perduced  the 

cettyfikit,  vich  she  said  as  f  he'd  'ad  morn'  a 

'nuff  of  him,  she  wus  quite  willin'  to  burn',  an' 

j  burn  it  she  did,  there  an'  then,  though  not  un- 

j  til  she'd  read  out  all  that  was  written  on  it,  an' 

I  pinted  out  to  the  Wicount  how  the  witnesses  0,3 


180 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


•WUB  all  drowned, 'or  dead,  or  gone  sway  to  some 
other  part  o'  the  world  ;  an'  how,  ai  the  secret 
was  their  own,  they  could  keep  it,  an'  nobody 
be  none  the  wiser.  An'  she  told  'im  lie 
might  marry  the  daughter  of  a  railway  con- 
tractor if  he  chose— she  did  it  all  herself,  every 
bit  on  it—" 

A  deep,  heavy  sigh,  escaped  the  lips  of 
Floret. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Nat,  "  the  "Wicount  took 
Jt  werry  colly,  even  when  she  drew  off  her  ved- 
ding  rings,  an'  scrunched  'em  beneath  the  'eel 
of  her  boot.  0  Jemima !  I  thinks  I  see  'er 
asow,  as  tossin'  of  'er  'and  in  the  hair,  she  de- 
clin'd  to  be  seed  by  him  to  her  carriage,  and 
left  him— not  a  lock  of  her  beautiful  'air — but 
a  cuas — " 

'•  No,  no !"  exclaimed  Floret,  faintly,  shrink- 
ing back  from  him. 

41  Ah,  but  she  did  tho' !"  persisted  Nat. 
"Not a  cuss  in  wiolent  langvidge ;  but sez  she, 
'I  leaves  you  vith  nothin'  but  my  cusa!'  " 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  with  an  air 
•which  would  have  been  ludicrous  but  for  the 
terrible  reflections  it  conveyed,  and  Floret 
covered  her  face  with  her  hand. 

Nat  perceived  this,  and  assuming  a  very 
penitential  manner,  he  said  : 

**I  begs  your  parding,  Mies ;  but  I  sees  I'm 
distresBiu'  on  you,  vich  I  don't  visa  to  do.  I 
s' pose  it's  nateral,  however,  as  I  am  speakin 
o'  your  own  father  and  mother — but,  then' 
if  is*,  lor'  bless  you,  it  ain't  nothin'  particular 
for  two  married  parties  to  do  a  little  friendly 
cussm'  at  each  other  nows  an'  thens.  Married 
life  ain't  orvays  endless  f'licity.  A  'usband 
sometimes  objects,  an'  a  vife  sometimes  objects, 
an*  ven  they  both  objects  together,  there's  sure 
to  be  a  trjfle  o'  cussin'  on  von  side  or  the  other, 
p'raps  on  both — " 

44  Yon  are  jrreatly  distressing  me !"  suddenly 
exclaimed  Floret,  sternly  and  impatiently. 
"  J  request  that  you  will  at  once  come  to  the 
object  of  your  visit  to  me  or  retire." 

Nat  gazad  at  her  for  a  mement,  and  then, 
with  a  gesture  of  respect,  said : 
:     "  I  am  comin'  to  it,  Miss,  as  fast  as  I  can, 
aa'  I'm  sure  I  von't  distress  you  if  I  can  'elp 
it.    Now,  I've  got  a  copy  o'  that  'ere  cettyfikit 
of  marriage,  vich  I  vent  to  Brighton  a'ter  my- 
self, an'  paid  the  clerk  for  it.    A  good  deal  o' 
trouble  I've  'ad  to  keep  it ;  but  here  it  is  I" 
I     He  produced  from  a  pocket-book  a  folded 
paper ;  and  as  he  opened  it  a  hissing  whisper 
ran  through  the  room,  which  sounded  ia  his 
ears  exactly  like  the  word,  rascal : 
1     "Rascal!" 

He  looked  sharply  at  Floret's  face,  but  her 
eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  folded  paper,  and 
her  lips  were  compressed  together :  it  wascer- 
tainly  not  she  who  uttered  the  word. 
)     He  looked  anxiously  round  the  apartment, 
and  pointed  to  the  door  of  the  bedchamber. 
j     "  All  right,  there  ?"  he  said,  suggestively. 

Floret,  however,  gazed  upon  him  so  haughti- 
ly, that  he  did  not  press  his  question. 

"  You  eee,  Miss,  I  have  the  copy  of  the  cet- 
tyfikit," ha  proceeded ;  "  and  I've  got— that 


is,  I  know  vere  to  lay  my  hands  on  'em,  an 
that's  the  same  to  me  as  'avin'  'em — the  bits 
o'  rings  vith  writin'  engraved  oa  'em,  all 
proofs  o' the  marriage.  Now,  Mis?,  you  see 
that  Miss  Plantagenet  is  the  Marchioness  o* 
Yestchester,  because  she's  been  an'  gone  and 
married  agin  vile  her  fust  husband's  alive,  and 
the  Wiscount  is  now  the  Earl  o'  Brackleigh, 
an*  he,  too,  'as  been  an'  gone  an'  married  ag'in. 
Now,  neether  o'  them  marriages  are  worth  a 
straw  ;  the  fust  is  the  only  genevine  von,  and 
you  are  the  daughter  o'  that  fust  marriage, 
vieh,  ven  I  bin  an'  prov'd,  vill  make  you  a 
lady  o'  title  an'  great  vealth.  Now,  Mies,  as 
nobody  can  prove  this  'ere  but  your  'umble 
servant  to  co-mand,  Natanel  Ferret,  to  be 
short  an'  to  the  pint,  you  must  pay  me  werry 
'ansomely  to  do  it. 

"  You  may  be  able  to  prove  the  marriage  of 
which  you  have  spoken,"  responded  Floret, 
as  he  ceased,  articulating  her  words  with  much 
difficulty,  "  but  how  are  you  prepared  to  prove 
that  I  am  the  daughter  of  the  firat  marriage, 
as  you  express  it?" 

This  was  rather  a  poser  for  Nat,  but  he 
coughed,  amd  hemmed,  and  moved  about  a 
little  uneasily,  until  he  could  catch  an  idea, 
because  he  was  quite  aware  that,  though  able 
to  prove  the  marriage,  he  was  in  no  condition 
to  prove  the  birth  of  a  child  subsequently. 
With  rather  a  longer  preliminary  cou^h  than 
any  of  the  preceding,  he  said : 

"  Vy,  Miss,  that's  the  werry  easiest  thing  in 
life.  I  knows  the  vay  to  go  about  it.  Fust, 
you  eee,  you're  azackly  like  the  Marchioness, 
a-9  like  as  two  peas  in  vom  pod.  An'  then, 
you  see,  Miss,  that  I'm  vith  the  Earl  o'  Brack- 
ieigh  still.  He  can't  afford  to  part  vith  me, 
he  can't :  I  knowa  too  much  for  :im.  An' 
then,  Miss,  that  'ere  fair  party  as  is  to  run  in 
double  harness  vith  me  ven  ve  carries  on  the 
public- house  business,  is  the  vaitin'-maid  o' 
ihe  Marchioness  of  Vestchester — her  confi- 
dential maid,  Miss.  She  vill  t«ll  me  any  thin', 
she  vill ;  and'  as  soon  as  ever  you  vants  to  see 
the  Marchioness  some  fine  evenin',  ven  she's  a 
takin'  her  valks  in  the  garden,  you  tells  me,  I 
tells  Fane,  Fane  'ints  to  the  Marchioness  a 
valk  in  the  garden  vill  do  her  good,  she  fan- 
cies she's  goin'  to  see  the  Earl  o'  Brackleigh, 
she  sez  she  vill  take  her  advice,  Fane  tells  me, 
I  tells  you,  you  goes  there  for  a  valk,  too,  you 
meets  her,  an'  you  sez  to  her — 0,  Jemima  I" 

Nat  suddenly  staggered  back  several  paces 
as  he  made  the  exclamation,  and  was  about  to 
make  a  bolt  to  the  door,  when  a  loud,  imperious 
voice  commanded  him  to  stay,  and  he  stood 
still,  like  a  cur  that  expects  to  be  beaten. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  had  entered 
the  room  as  he  uttered  the  last  observation, 
and  he  caught  sight  of  her  in  the  very  middle 
of  his  exciting  description  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  should  propose  to  prove  to  Floret 
that  she  was  the  legitimate  daughter  of  the 
Marchioness  of  Westchester. 

''  Give  me  the  paper  which  you  have  atolen 
from  me,"  said  the  Countees,  approaching  him 
cloetly. 


OB.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIEL 


181 


Nat  looked  at  her  beseechingly. 

"  I  beg  your  parding,  my  Lady,"  he  com- 
menced. 

"  Give  it  me  without  a  word,"  she  inter- 
rupted, sternly,  "or  take  immediately  the 
consequences  of  your  rascality." 

He,  with  very  genuine  reluctance,  tendered 
the  copy  of  the  certificate  to  her.  She  almost 
snatched  it  from  him,  and  opened  it  to  see 
that  he  had  not  deceived  her  by  substituting 
another  paper  for  it.  As  she  was  running  her 
eye  over  it,  he  said  to  her,  in  a  frowning 
tone: 

•'  I— a—I — a — persmnesyour  ladyship  over- 
heard my  little  proposal  to  this  young  lady, 
'ere." 

**  Every  word,"  replied  the  Countess,  curtly, 

"Then,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  tone, 
"  your  ladyship  vill  know " 

"That  you  'are  acquainted  with  the  Marchi- 
oness's confidential  woman,  and  can,  through 
her,  make  assignations  between  the  Marchion- 
ess and  the  Earl  your  master,"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  looking  pale,  and  resembling,  in 
Nat's  eyes,  at  least,  one  of  the  Fates. 

"  I  did  not  go  azactly  to  say  that,  my  lady," 
he  responded,  deprecatingly. 

The  Countess  waved  ker  hand,  with  an 
angry,  impatient  gesture : 

"  Silence  I"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  for  you 
to  listen  and  obey,  not  to  speak.  Now,  mark 
well  what  questions  I  shall  put  to  you,  and 
answer  them  truhfully,  or  within  half  an  hour 
from  this  time  you  shall  lie  manacled  in  a 
jail." 

"  Nat  looked  at  her  and  trembled.  He  knew 
yery  well  that  if  he  attempted  to  thwart  or 
trick  her  now,  that  she  would  keep  her  word  ; 
and,  unfortunately  for  him,  she  could  keep  her 
word. 

"Firstly,"  she  said,  after  a  minute's  con- 
sideration, "  I  wish  to  refer  to  that  interview 
which  took  place  between  the  Viscount  Ber- 
tram and  his  then  wife,  while  you  were  hidden 
in  the  closet,  and  I  call  upon  you  to  tax  your 
memory  closely." 

"  It  is  so  werry  long  ago,  your  ladyship," 
he  muttered,  uneaeily. 

"  Not  so  long  but  that  you  could  remember 
well  enough  to  repeat  some  of  the  words 
which  were  used  upon  that  occasion." 

"  Because  they  wua  so  werry  itartling,  he 
suggested. 

44  Silence !"  she  exclaimed,  sternly,  and  then 
looking  at  him  fixedly,  to  his  apparent  un- 
easiness, she  said.  "  Did  Mies  Plantagenet  men- 
tion, when  speaking  of  the  witnesses  to  this 
document,  the  name  of  Shelley  ?" 

"Shelley?" he  echoed. 

"No  iteration!"  ehe  rejpined,  quickly. 
44  Did  she  speak  of  one  Frances  Shelley  ?" 

Nat  put  his  thumbs  into  the  armboles  of 
his  waistcoat,  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  and 
then  down  at  the  floor,  and  went  through  sev- 
eral small  performances  to  denote  that  he  was 
probing  his  memory  very  severely. 

41  Do  you  wish  me  to  call  in  aid  to  quicken 
your  recollection?"  added  the  Countess,  ia  a 


low,  determined  tone,  which  made  his  flesh 
crawl.  "Frances  Shelley  was  the  foster-sis- 
ter of  the  Marchioness ;  did  she  speak  of 
her?" 

44  Her  foster-sister !"  repeated  Nat,  as  thongli 
the  mention  of  that  nominal  relationship  had 
brought  a  gleam  of  light  to  his  powers  of  re- 
membrance. 4'  Of  course,  the  Marchioness 
I  did,  my  Lady.  Frances  Shelley,  to  be  sure  she 
did." 

44  What  did  she  say  about  her  '—quick,  it  is 
very  dangerous  for  you  to  attempt  to  trifle 
with  me  in  my  present  mood,"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  tapping  the  floor  with  her  foot. 

44  She  said,  my  Lady,  if  my  mem'ry  ain't  at 
fault,  my  Lady,"  replied  Nat,  slowly,  "  thai 
Frances  Shelley  was  her  foster-sister." 

44 Well!'  ejaculated  the  Countess,  shortly 
and  sharply. 

41  She  said,  I  think,  that  ehe  was  devoted  to 
her." 

"Well!" 

"  An'  I  think  she  said  as  she  knew  she'd  dk 
for  her." 

"Well!" 

"  And  that  she  was  going  away  to  Orstra- 
leear,  or  to  Columby,  or  some  other  place." 

"Goon." 

44  An'  that  she  would  never  come  back  no 
more." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  I  think  she  t aid  summat,  my  Lady,  about 
its  breaking  her  heart  to  stop  away  for  ever, 
but  that  she  was  sure  she  vould  never  come 
back." 

44  What  more  ?" 

"  Nothin'  more,  my  Lady." 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

44 Upon  my  s — word,  my  Lady!"  he  said, 
with  some  emphasis,  catching  himself  up  from 
the  utterance  of  an  oath. 

The  Countess  turned  to  Floret  and  said : 

44  Do  you  believe  that  the  woman's  devotion 
to  her  foster-sister  remains  uncharged?" 

"  I  do,"  replied  Floret,  unhesitatingly. 

44  We  shall  have  a  more  difficult  task  wi'i 
her  than  I  at  first  calculated  upon,"  muttered 
the  Countess.  "  We  must  proceed  cautiously. 
There  is  one  step,  however,  which  shall  b« 
taken." 

She  turned  to  Nat,  and  said,  in  an  authori- 
tative tone,  to  him : 

"  Retire  to  the  door  for  a  minute,  bat  do 
not  quit  the  room." 

Then,  addressing  Floret,  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone :  f 

44  It  is  but  just  that  you  should  have  an  in- 1 
terview  with  your  parents  when  they  are  to- 
gether. You  have  seen  each  alone,  and  they 
have  denied  you ;  but  I  do  not  believe  that 
this  refusal  to  acknowledge  you  is  the  result  of  ; 
concerted  action.  If  you  were  to  appear  be- 
fore them  at  an  unexpected  moment,  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  nature  would  triumph  over 
every  personal  or  worldly  consideration.  If 
they  acknowledge  you,  it  may  have  the  effect 
of  changing  our  plans,  and  rendering  unneces- 
sary much  that  must  be  done  if  they  persist 


:  HAG  AH  LOT; 


in  disowning  yon  ;  I  ^vill  forego  much  if  thej 
exhibit  toward  you  A  touch  of  common  hu- 
manity. Have  you  the  courage  to  face 
them?" 

"  What  haye  I  to  fear  ?"  asked  Floret,  earn- 
estly. "  My  cause  ia  at  least  a  good  and  a 
just  one.  The  injuries  which  have  been 
wrought  have  fallen  upon  me.  It  is  I  who 
have  to  complain,  not  they.  I  will  readily 
make  the  attempt,  for  it  is  my  most  earnest 
wish  that  they  should  both  acknowledge  me 
to  be  their  child,  and,  under  the  present  un- 
bappy  circumstances,  that  they  should  do  so 
in  secret." 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  rejoined  the 
Countess.  "But,"  she  thought,  -'the  Mar- 
quis of  Wastchester  shall  make  one  of  the 
party.  Ibis  but  fair  that  he  should  attend 
such  a  meeting." 

She  beckoned  Nat,  who  had  kept  his  eye 
upon  her,  to  her  side. 

j>. "  Kemember,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  my 
slave.  I  have  promised  you  a  reward.  You 
shall  have  the  woman  of  whom  you  have  spo- 
ken for  a  wife,  and  funds  to  purchase  the  house 
for  which  you  are  longing ;  but  it  must  be  af- 
ter you  have  served  me  faithfully  and  truly. 
3Jow,  tell  me,  has  the  Marchioness  given  any 
message,  through  her  maid  and  you,  to  the 
Earl?" 

Nat  looked  upon  the  ground,  he  twisted  his 
h&i  round,  he  smoothed  his  beaver  with  the 
cuff  of  his  '  coat,  he  moved  his  feet  uneasily, 
and  coughed. 

"  Answer  me !"  she  exclaimed,  fiercely. 

"The  Hurl,  will  kill  me,  my  Lady,  if  I 
*  blows'  upon  him,"  he  said,  huskily. 

"Have  yon  thought  of  the  consequences  of 
opposing  me  ?"  she  asked  him,  in  a  sharp, 
pointed  tone. 

"I  don't  vish  to  do  it,"  deprecated  Nat; 
«  but—" 

"What  is  the  message?"  she  half  shrieked, 
with  passionate  vehemence. 

"  That  the  Marchionees  vill  be  at  the  Count- 
ess of  Newmarket's  reception  to-morrow 
night,  alone.  She  will  arrive  there  at  elev- 
ing,  an'  her  carriage  vill  call  for  her  at 
twelve." 

•'  Enough,"  responded  the  Countess  ;  "  you 
may  go.  Deliver  your  message  to  the  Earl ; 
and,  remember,  not  a  word  or  a  hint  of  what 
has  transpired  here  to-day,  as  you  value 
wife,  house— even  your  life  1  Go !  not  a  word !" 

Nat  bowed,  and  slunk  out,  steaming  with 
heat,  and  with  worda  bubbling  upon  his  lips 
which  were  not  in  any  respect  flattering  to  the 
Countess. 

As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared,  the  Count- 
ess caught  Floret  in  her  arms. 

*'We  will  go  to  the  reception,  too,"  she 
said,  earnestly;  "there  they  must  listen  to 
jou ;  they  dare  not  thrust  you  from  them ; 
*nd  they  may— they,  no  doubt,  will— quietly 
but  certainly  receive  you  with  the  acknowl- 
edgments you  desire,  and  make  arrangements 
that  the  recognition  shall  be  more  ample  at  a 
future  meeting." 


Floret  trembled,  but  did  rot  reply. 

While  pressing  her  to  her  bosom,  the 
Countess  decided  to  write  to  tbe  Marquis  of 
Westchester,  and  request  him  to  meet  her  at 
the  reception  of  the  Countess  of  Ner/ market. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
"  Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  turn, 
As  the  pale  death  bhip  to  the  storm, 
And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread. 
As  shrieks  aflU  voices  from  the  dead—- 
That pang,  whose  transitory  force 
Hovered  'iwixt  horror  acd  remorse ; 
That  pang  perchance  his  bosom  prcss'd." 

—  SCOW. 

Poor  Floret,  in  having  consented  to  accom- 
pany the  Countess  cf  Brackleigh  to  the 
Countess  of  Newmarket's  reception,  was  com- 
pelled to  make  a  compromise  with  her  spirit 
of  independence. 

SLe  very  eoon  made  this  discovery,  and 
made  it,  too,  with  a  species  of  silent  dismay. 
The  proceeds  arising  from  the  manufacture  of 
artificial  flowers,  and  the  gains  accruing  from 
the  better  though  far  from  adequately  re- 
munerated labor  of  embroidery  and  Berlin 
wool-work,  promised  to  go  a  very  little  way 
toward  the  purchase  and  making  of  a  dress 
which  would  barely  pass  muster  at  such  an  as- 
sembly as  that  which  would  gather  at  the 
Countess  of  Newmarket's. 

The  Earl  of  Newmarket's  hobby  was  racing ; 
he  had  indubitably  the  largest  and  most  val- 
uable racing- stud  in  England,  and,  therefore, 
in  the  world.  His  Countess  prided  herself  oa 
giving  the  most  distinguished  entertainments 
to  the  very  highest  people,  and  the  most  bril- 
liant parties  to  the  largest  number  of  guests 
that  could  be  drawn  together  under  one  root 
She  made  it  a  feature,  too,  that  the  drees  worn 
upon  such  occasions  should  be  of  the  gayest 
and  costliest  kinds,  and  she  herself  set  up  a 
livalry  among  the  fair  visitors  in  the  produc- 
tion of  jewels  worn  as  adornments  to  the  per- 
son. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  acquainted 
with  thcee  features  in  the  entertainments  of 
the  Countean  of  Newmarket,  enlarged  upon 
them  to  Floret,  who,  with  a  sinking  of  the 
heart  well  known  to  young  ladies  placed  in  a 
similar  predicament,  rtfiected  that  ehe  bad 
"nothing  to  wear".  Sne  hastily  submitted 
her  position  to  the  Countess,  and  begged  to 
be  permitted  to  recall  her  consent  to  accom- 
pany her  thither ;  but  the  latter  declined  to 
absolve  her  from  her  promise,  and  even  ar- 
gued her  into  an  assent  to  allow  her  to  pro- 
vide her  with  her  attire  and  jewels  for  the  oc- 
casion. 

After  some  hesitation,  Floret  made  a  com- 
promiee  with  her  conscience  by  egreeing  to 
wear  the  same  Jight  blue  dresa  which  ehe  had 
worn  at  Brackleigh  House  when  she  had  her 
first  interview  with  the  Earl,  and  any  jewels 
which  the  Countesa  might  think  proper  to  lend 
her. 

With  the  arrangement  that  sho  should  send 
her  carriage  on  the  nexi  day,  at  four,  lor 
Floret,  the  Countess  took  her  departure,  too 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


183 


ranch  occupied  with  her  thoughts  to  remember 
Lord  Victor  and  Hyde  Vaughan,  who  were 
awaiting  her  pleasure  in  an  apartment  below, 
discussing  the  probability  of  Ida  turning  out 
to  be  Hyde's  half  cousin. 

Fmding  that  the  Countess  had  quitted  the 
house  without  seeing  them  again,  they  imme- 
diately went  in  search  of  their  respective  ina- 
moratas ;  but  Ida,  trembling,  burning,  blush- 
ing, resolutely  kept  out  of  eight,  and  Floret 
was  too  much  excited  by  her  previsions  of  the 
ordeal  she  should  have  to  go  through  on  the 
following  evening  to  support  an  interview  with 
Lord  Victor.  Upon  her  intimating  this  to 
him,  he  very  considerately  took  his  departure, 
and  made  Hyde  go  with  him. 

But  not  until  he  had  ascertained  that  Floret 
would  accompany  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh 
to  the  Countess  of  Newmarket's  on  the  follow- 
ing evening. 

He  silently  resolved  to  go  there,  too,  al- 
though, owing  to  his  recent  bereavements,  he 
would  be  obliged  to  pay  his  visit  incognito. 
This,  be  knew,  could  be  easily  managed. 

The  Countess,  having  secured  Floret's  con- 
sent to  wear  the  dress  and  jewels  which  she 
ehould  provide,  did  not  hesitate  as  to  the 
course  which  she  thought  it  best  to  pursue. 
She,  therefore,  returned  home  at  once,  in- 
structed her  maid,  Subtle,  to  make  the  dress 
which  Floret  had  worn  into  a  parcel,  and  carry 
it  to  her  carriage,  which  she  had  ordered  to 
await  her  at  the  door. 

As  soon  as  it  was  placed  there,  she  drove  to 
the  first  silk-mercer's  in  London,  and  having 
selected  one  of  the  most  exquieite  and  richest 
fabrics  that  was  ever  produced  by  a  eilk  loom, 
she  proceeded  with  It  to  her  dressmaker's,  and 
gave  orders  that  it  should  be  made  up  to  re- 
semble the  drees  she  had  brought  with  her  as 
a  pattern,  which  was  to  be  departed  from  only 
wherever  an  alteration  was  required  by  the 
difference  of  fashion. 

As  her  dressmaker  employed  upward  of 
fifty  young  ladies,  with  no  settled  hours  of  la- 
bor whenever  there  was  a  pressure  of  business, 
the  dress  was  readily  promised  to  be  ready  by 
four  the  next  day,  and  at  the  hour  named,  It 
was  delivered  for  the  Countess  at  Brackleigh 
Mansion. 

On  her  way  home,  the  Countess  paused  at  a 
stationer's  shop,  which  she  saw  was  also  a 
post-office,  and,  alighting,  she  entered  the 
shop,  and  called  for  writing  materials. 

On  being  supplied  with  them,  she  wrote  the 
following  note  : 

"  If  the  Marquis  of  Westcbester  has  acy  considera- 
tion for  his  honor,  and  would  preserve  his  coble  name 
untarnished,  he  will  be  present  to-morrow  evening  at 
the  Countess  of  Newmarket's  reception.  The  Mar- 
chioness of  Westchester  has  already  made  an  engage- 
ment to  be  there  at  eleven.  Tiie  Marquis  should  be 
cautious  and  circumspect ;  he  must  not  reveal  to  any 
one  his  intention  of  appearing  at  the  reception." 

She  sealed  this  mysterious  epistle,  address- 
ed it,  marked  it  "  strictly  private",  and  placed 
it  in  the  letter-box  herself,  and  then  returned 
home. 

Aa  ehe  new  seldom  even  saw  the  Earl  of 


Brackleigh,  and  when  ehe  did  they  did  not 
speak,  she  did  not  acquaint  him  with  any  of 
her  movements  ;  and  he,  so  absorbed  in  mak- 
ing secret  arrangements  for  a  flight  from  Eng- 
land, which  he  hdd  resolved  should  last  so  long 
as  the  Countess  lived,  did  not  trouble  himself 
to  ascertain  what  she  did  or  whither  she  went. 
She,  however,  did  not  lose  eight  of  Ned  Fer- 
ret. She  bet  her  maid,  Subtle,  upon  him  as  a 
spy — a  congenial  task  to  her ;  and  as  soon  as 
she  knew  that  he  had  an  interview  with  the 
Earl,  after  her  own  with  him  in  Floret's  apart-  \i 
ments,  she  waylaid  him,  and  learned  from  him  . 
that  the  Earl  had  received  from  him  the  Mar-  - 
chioness's  message,  and  intended  to  keep  the 
appointment. 

She,  therefore,  went  on  with  her  prepara- 
tions. , 

At  the  same  time,  the  Marchioness  of  West' 
cheater,  who,  notwithstanding  her  outrageous 
menaces  to  the  Marquis,  had  not  the  smallest 
intention  of  in  any  respect  fulfilling  them, 
was  preparing  also  for  the  party  at  the  Coun- 
tess of  Newmarket's  palatial  residence,  and 
had  resolved  on  this  particular  occasion  to 
outvie  her  compeers  in  the  splendor  of  her 
dress,  and  in  the  value  and  matchless  beauty 
of  her  jewels. 

By  one  of  those  remarkable  coincidences 
which  sometimes  occur  in  actual  life,  the  silk- 
mercer  whom  she  patronized  exhibited  to  her 
precisely  the  same  patterned  fabric,  of  an  ex- 
actly similar  material,  texture,  and  hue — from, 
indeed,  the  same  loom — as  that  which  the 
Countess  of  Brackleigh  had  purchased  for  Flo- 
ret. The  mercer,  fully  believing  the  state- 
ment of  the  manufacturer  of  whom  it  had  been 
purchased  by  his  bnyer,  declared!,  i  to  be  per- 
fectly unique  ;  and  with  the  impression  that 
she  alone  should  appear  in  a  crtsa  of  this  hue 
and  pattern,  she  ordered  it  to  be  made  up  for 
her. 

She  had  been  induced  to  select  it  because 
the  colors  were  snch  as  to  suit  her  complexion. 
The  design  was  a  peach-colored  roee-leaf, 
winding  into  graceful  forms  upon  a  pale  blue 
ground,  which  was  shot  with  white,  and  form- 
ed a  combination  of  euch  remarkable  beauty, 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  that  such  a  dress 
upon  an  elegant  woman  could  pass  unnoticed: 

The  Marquis,  who  had  received  cards  for 
the  reception,  had  tossed  them  aside,  not  in- 
tending to  be  present.  Indeed,  after  his  late 
fearful  scene  with  the  Marchioness,  he  had  re- 
solved not  only  not  to  go  into  society  again, 
but  to  prevent  the  Marchioness  doing  so,  until 
he  had  satisfied  his  terrible  suspicions.  If  the  • 
result  of  his  investigations  ehould  render  a 
separation  imperative,  he  determined  to  go 
abroad,  and  live  there  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  If,  on  the  contrary— which  he  found  it 
difficult  to  suppose — she  came  out  clear,  he 
purposed  entering  into  some  arrangement  with 
Her  which  should  place  them  upon  a  mow 
satisfactory  footing. 

He  filr,  and  was  ill.  The  exciting  scene 
with  the  Marchioness,  which  oould  not  be  con- 
ceuled  from  his  servante,  and  her  crowning 


184 


HAGAE  LOT 


terrific  insult  respecting  his  origin,  had  har- 
ried him  into  a  fit,  and  he  was  no*  Buffering 
from  its  effects.  The  M&rcbioness  he  believed 
to  be  still  ill,  and  confined  to  ber  chamber— 
to  he  was,  in  fact,  informed  by  her  maid,  Fane 
— and,  therefore,  gayeties  and  receptions  ap- 
peared to  him  to  be  out  of  the  question. 

He  was  seated  alone  in  his  study,  his  medical 
attendant  having  just  quitted  him,  after  im- 
pressing upon  him  the  necessity  of  avoiding 
everything  approaching  excitement,  when  a 
eery  ant  entered,  and  handed  him  upon  a  silver 
ealver  two  letters. 

The  Marquis  glanced  at  them,  took  them 
and  threw  them  upon  the  table  upon  which  his 
elbow  was  resting,  and  the  servant  quitted  the 
room. 

He  was  weak,  and  felt  faint,  and  therefore 
not  in  a  mood  to  read  letters  which,  he  pre- 
sumed, could  onlj  have  reference  to  business, 
to  which  he  was  not  in  a  disposition  to  attend, 
or  to  solicit  patronage  or  assistance  which  he 
was  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  grant. 

Shortly  afterward,  while  brooding  with  all 
the  sickening  agony  of  a  desperate  jealousy, 
his  eye  accidentally  took  notice  of  the  fact  that 
both  Idlers  were  marked  "  private  and  confi- 
dential." 

The  tone  of  his  thoughts  made  such  an  ad  - 
dition  to  each  superscription  painfully  attrac- 
tive to  him;  and  he  snatched,  both  up  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  examined  the  respective 
hanwriUinga.  One  was  small,  beautifully  neat, 
and  evidently  that  of  an  educated  lady  :  the 
other  w&s  the  short,  vigorously-formed  letters 
which  usually  indicate  a  cool,  determined,  and 
inflexible  mind. 

Ha  turned  them  over  and  over,  examined 
the  postmarks  and  the  seals— both  were  gum- 
med envelopes,  with  the  device  of  the  flower 
, " forget  me-not"  ;  and  at  last,  with  a  cold 
numbness  tingling  his  fingers,  he  opened  as 
the  first  the  one  which  bore  the  handwriting  of 
the  female. 

It  was  the  one  which  had  been  addressed 
anonymously  to  him  by  the  Countess  of  Brack- 
leigh.  He  read  the  contents  through  in  an 
instant,  and  felt,  as  he  did  so,  as  though  a  shaft 
of  lightning  had  passed  through  hid  brain  and 
slain  him. 

He  sank  back,  cold,  paralyzed,  powerless,  by 
the  allusion  to  the  preservation  of  Lis  honor, 
and  tbe  appointment  which  had  been  made  by 
the  Marchioness.  A  deadly  faintness  spread 
itself  over  him,  and  he  believed  that  he  was 
about  to  have  a  repetition  of  the  former  fit. 

The  violence,  the  rage,  the  torments  of  his 
jealousy,  however,  lifted  him  out  of  his  pros- 
tration, and  he  paced  the  room  under  feelings 
of  intense  excitement.  Of  course,  <  conjec- 
tured the  worst;  he  eurmised  a  thousand 
things  that  would  not  happen,  and  a  hundred 
that  could  not.  There  is,  perhaps,  little  differ- 
ence in  this  respect  between  jealous  men  and 
jealous  women  ;  but,  if  there  is,  we  incline  to 
the  belief  that  women's  brain  being  the  mo&t 
fertile  and  erratic  in  suoh  matters,  ehe  conjures 
up  more^  exaggeration?,  improbabilities,  and 


impossibilities,  than  her  prototype  of  the  op- 
posite sex. 

However,  the  Marquis's  powers  of  invention 
were  sufficiently  ample,  and  he  coined  a  varie- 
ty of  incidents,  in  which  the  Marchioness 
would  play  a  principal  part  so  derogatory  to 
his  honor  ea  to  almost  drive  him  delirious. 

While  anathematizing  her  in  terms  the  most 
vituperative  of  which  language  is  capable,  his 
eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  second  letter, 
marked  also,  "  private  and  confidential". 

He  caught  it  up,  wondering  *  bat  new  in- 
fotmant  that  his  honor  was  in  danger  had  in- 
dited this  second  epietle,  and  opened  it.  With 
feelings  of  bitter  dismay  he  read  as  follow*  : 

44  MY  LORD  :  — Youwill  remember  that  wben 
you  were  a  Captain  in  the  Guards,  I  was  a  Cor- 
poral in  your  regiment,  and  acted  as  your  reg- 
imental servant.  Yon  cannot  forget,  also,  that 
I  acted  confidentially  for  you  in  various  little 
affairs  of  the  heart.  I  had  not  a  very  scrupu- 
lous conscience,  or  in  all  probability,  I  should 
never  hare  forfeited  an  excellent  position  in 
society,  I  should  never  have  enlisted  m  the 
regiment  which  was  honored  in  having  you  for 
its  Captain,  and  I  certainly  should  never  have 
been  favoured  with  your  entire  confidence.  I 
mean  that  confidence  which  needs  an  agent 
not  particular  with  regard  to  the  woik  he  un- 
dertakes to  do,  and  which  is  supposed  to  b€ 
retained  and  not  abused,  so  long  aa  certain 
terms  of  agreement  are  performed  and  fulfilled 
on  both  sides. 

"  Much  that  I  did  for  you  would  come  tin- 
der the  denomination  of  heartlees  improprie- 
ty— eome  would  give  it  a  harsher  name  ;  but 
I,  who  know  women  well,  know,  too,  that  9 
broken  heart  means  only  the  interval  between 
the  desertion  of  the  old  love  and  the  netting 
of  the  new. 

l<  With  one  exception,  however,  the  whole 
of  those  liasions  are  settled  and  done  with. 
They  are  only  matters  of  memory,  if  even 
that,  because  the  law  could  not  and  cannot 
touch  them  ;  but  the  one  exception  is,  unfor- 
tunately for  you,  one  that  the  law  can  reach. 

"  Read  what  follows  attentively. 

"You  cannot  fail  to  remember  meeting  at  a 
ball  a  young  lady,  who  had  just  been  brought 
out — by  name,  Ada  Vian.  You  were  much 
attracted  by  her  beauty,  and  you  set  me  to 
work  to  convey  letters  to  her  ;  and  when  she — 
which  she  very  soon  did— wrote  to  you,  to  be 
her  messenger  likewise. 

*'  You  tried  very  hard  to  induce  her  to  elope 
with  you  ;  but,  as  nothing  whatever  *ould 
pacify  her  scruples  but  the  ceremony  of  mar- 
riage, you  gave  me  a  sum  of  money,  and 
carte  blanche  instructions  to  carry  out  tbe  af- 
fair, so  that,  while  it  closely  resembled  the 
real  thing,  it  should  be  a  mere  fraud,  which 
could  at  any  time  be  Bet  aside.  It  waa  an  old 
ruse,  but  a  task  not  very  eaey  to  manage  euc- 
cessfulJy.  I  set  to  work  to  do  as  you  wished  ; 
but,  as  I,  too,  was  obliged  to  employ  a  confi- 
dant ID  play  one  of  the  parts,  I  engaged  a 
brothel  of  mine,  who  was  then  a  lawyer's 
clerk,  So  act  with  me.  He  deceived  me  inosfc 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


185 


treacherously.  He  was- ha!  ha  !— a  law- 
yer's clerk,  too!— troubled  with  ecruples  of 
conscience,  of  which,  by  the  way,  he  said 
nothing  to  me,  and  he  cajoled  me  to  let  him 
manage  the  whole  matter.  You  recollect  how 
well  it  was  done ;  you  complimented  me,  and 
paid  me  handsomely  for  accomplishing  the 
thing  BO  well.  Ada  Vian,  after  the  cere- 
mony, eloped  with  you,  and  lived  with  you  not 
only  as  your  wife,  but  she  was  your  wife. 

«'  Be  attentive ! 

41  You,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing, 
bad  a  truly  aristocratic  dislike  to  be  bored 
with  details.  It  was  enough  for  you  that  you 
met,  at  the  place  and  time  appointed,  the  per- 
sona whom  you  expected  to  meet ;  t iat  you 
made  certain  responses  you  were  calle4  upon 
to  make  ;  and  that  you  went  away  with  your 
young,  shrinking,  blushing  prize,  whom  you 
believed  you  had  completely  tricked,  and 
should  successfully  ruin. 

"  My  brother's  scruples  of  conscience  trot- 
ted off  with  him  the  moment  I  had  resigned 
the  arrangement  of  the  plan  into  his  hands  to 
a  clergyman,  to  whom  he  made  a  clean  breast 
of  the  matter.  This  clergyman  went  at  once 
secretly  to  Ada  Vian,  and  at  a  private  inter- 
view found  that  she  had  surrendered  her 
heart  and  her  mind  to  you  ;  that  she  was  bent 
•upon  being  married  to  you  ;  that  if  she  were 
not,  it  would  break  her  heart;  and  tbat  no 
reasoning  which  he  could  advance  influenced 
her  in  the  slightest  degree  to  the  contrary.  He 
came  back  to  my  brother,  and  acquainted  him 
with  the  result  of  his  mission,  and  also  that  he, 
as  had  been  agreed  upon  previously  between 
them,  had  not  informed  Mies  Ada  Vian  that 
you  purposed  making  her  your  mistress  by  a 
trick.  It  was  then  arranged,  in  order  to  save 
the  girl  from  destruction,  that  the  marriage- 
ceremony  should  be  legal  and  complete  in  all 
respects.  The  banns  were  published  at  the 
parish  church  in  which  you  were  both  resid- 
ing, a  long  three  weeks,  if  you  will  recall  the 
period  in  which  you  were  engaged  writing  let 
ters  to  urge  her  to  comply  with  your  request 
to  give  you  her  hand  and  fly  with  you. 
You  obtained  her  assent,  and  the  marriage 
took  place  at  the  email  chapel-of-eaee,  obtain- 
ed, as  you  supposed,  by  bribery.  You  will 
remember  that  the  clergyman  not  only  filled 
up  a  printed  form,  which  he  handed  to  Miss 
Ada,  but  he  very  emphatically  and  significant- 
ly assured  you  that  you  were  a  married  man. 
You  laughed  pleasantly  afterward,  and  said 
1  how  capitally  the  fellow  had  acted.' 

•'  I  regret  this  epistle  should  prove  so  long, 
but  it  is  impossible  to  shorten  it.  You  were,  as 
you  perceive,  lawfully  and  legally  married  to 
Ada  Vian." 

The  Marquis  sank  back  in  his  chair  and 
gasped  for  breath. 

He  remembered  every  incident  perfectly 
well,  and  this  was  the  first  intimation  that  he 
had  received  that  the  ceremony  was  not  a  mere 
fiction — a  wicked  and  a  cruel  deception,  which 
at  the  time  he  had  thought '  clever.' 

Oiie  consolatory  reflection,  however,  came 


to  bis  aid ;  the  woman  cf  whom  his  corre- 
spondent was  writing  ^as  dead  ;  eo,  with, 
knitted  brow  and  eet  teeth,  he  went  on  with 
the  perusal  of  the  letter.  It  was  continued 
thuo  ' 

"  You  lived  with  your  young  wife  contin- 
uously for  a  very  brief  period.  She  wa?  too 
fond  of  you  from  the  first,  and  you,  therefore, 
quickly  began  to  tire  of  her.  Then  you  framed 
excuses  to  account  for  the  long  abeeences  pass- 
ed with  others  of  her  sex.  You  employed  me 
still  as  your  agent  to  convey  messages  to  her, 
and  to  be  the  bearer  of  money,  which,  as  I 
was  then  in  difficulties,  I  shared  with  her, 
without  her  becoming  a  party  to  the  arrange- 
ment. She  had  a  child";  then,  in  your  anxiety 
to  be  free,  you  offered  me  a  handsome  sum  to 
get  rid  of  both.  An  opportunity  was  BOOB 
found,  for,  thrown  into  a  condition  of  ill- 
health  by  harsh  language,  cruel  letters,  and  an 
absence  scarcely  short  of  desertion,  she  went 
out  of  her  mind.  She  was,  the  very  moment 
that  we  discovered  her  insanity,  placed  by  us, 
my  Lord,  in  a  lunatic  asylum — we  both  swore 
strongly  on  that  occasion,  I  fear  Under  &n 
assumed  name,  the  child  was  placed  at  nurse 
in  Yorkshire,  and  just  at  that  time  I  saw  an 
opportunity  of  doing  well  in  Australia.  I 
sought  an  interview  with  you,  and  told  yon 
tbat  the  young  woman  with  whom  you  had 
gone  through  a  mock  marriage,  and  whom 
you  had  deserted,  was  dead.  You  believed 
me,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  inquire 
whether  I  had  spoken  the  truth  or  not,  and 
presented  me  with  a  sum  of  money,  as  well  as 
procured  my  discharge  from  the  Army.  We 
parted,  as  you  supposed,  for  ever.  Before  I 
wo?nt  away,  I  visited  your  wife,  who  was  not 
dead,  at  the  lunatic  asylum  ;  and  though  she 
was  still  insane,  she  recognized  me,  and  asked 
after  you  and  the  child.  1  wrote  down  the 
address  of  those  who  had  charge  of  the  latter 
on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  gave  it  to  her.  I 
told  her  that  if  she  mentioned  where  it  was  to 
be  found  to  any  one,  she  would  never  be  per- 
mitted to  see  it  again,  and  that  enough  money 
had  been  paid  for  its  support  until  it  would  be 
a  grown  girl  of  twelve  year*  old.  She  seemed 
to  understand  me,  and  concealed  the  paper. 
I  went  away  from  the  place  with,  I  confess,  a 
very  mean  opinion  of  my  manhood.  Tha,t  she 
might  not  be  left  wholly  helplees,  I  informed 
her  friends  where  she  might  bv\  found,  but  I 
told  them  not  a  word  about  you. 

4il  have  returned  home  a  beggar.  I  find 
that  you  got  married  about  a  year  after  I  left 
England,  and  that,  therefore,  you  are  in  an 
awkward  popition  with  respect  to  your  eecond 
marriage.  Your  wife  is  still  living,  and,  per- 
haps, your  daughter  also  ;  but  I  have  not  yet 
been  down  to  Yorkshire  to  ascertain  whether 
sheii  or  not.  The  clergyman  who  married 
you  is  also  living.  My  brother  is  now  aa 
eminent  solicitor,  still  troubled  with  12 con- 
venient scruples,  and  if  he  knew  that  you  were 
the  Captain  "Wolverton  who  married  Ad* 
Vian,  he  would  not  rest  until  he  eetfiblished 
that  marriage,  and  upset  your  pit-sent  cue.  I 


186 


KAGAR  LOT  ; 


have  your  secret.  I  believe  I  am  the  only 
person  who  can  betray  you.  What  is  your 
secret  worth  ?  You  are  now  a  rich  Marquis — 
you  had  always  very  high  expectations — your 
name  and  reputation  muet  Be  clear  to  you. 
Can  you  put  a  price  on  your  secret  ?  Reflect. 
I  will  be*  at  your  house  between  eleven  and 
twelve  to-morrow  night.  You  dare  not  refuse 
to  see  me.  The  name  I  shall  give  to  your 
porter  will  be,  Captain  Parrot,  of.  the  Sydney 
Mounted  Rifles. 

41 1  have  the  honor  to  be,  my  Lord,  your 
faithful,  devoted,  and  humble  servant, 

"  You  KNOW  WHO." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  decide  which  of  the 
two  letters  the  Marquis'had  thus  received  oc- 
casioned him  the  most  perturbation. 

The  first  worked  his  jealous  passions  up  to 
a  state  of  frenzy ;  the  second  paralyzed  him 
with  consternation.  A  dim  sense  that  what 
he  had  been  suffering,  and  what  he  was  likely 
to  suffer,  had  in  it  a  spice  of  retribution  for 
what  he  had  regarded  as  youthful  follies — that 
is  to  say,  that  he  was  about  thirty  when  he  be- 
lieved that,  by  a  connsummate  artifice,  he 
bad  ruined,  broken  the  heart,  and  de3troyed 
the  reason  of  Ada  Yian,  a  girl  of  seventeen. 
He,  when  he  married  Constance  Plantagenet, 
now  the  Marchionees  of  Westchester,  gave  up 
his  "  flirtations",  as  he  termed  them,  and  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  maintain  ance  of  his  dig- 
nity, and  the  unsullied  integrity  of  his  name. 
Lie  was  startled  when  Constance  had,  at  the 
very  outset  of  their  married  life,  repulsed  him ; 
and  he  fell  back  on  his  pride,  in  the  expecta- 
tion that  she  would  sacrifice  her  haughty  coy- 
nessy  and  woo  him  as  he  had  been  so  often 
wooed.  She  never  did  ;  her  conduct  had  al- 
ways been  based  on  a  species  of  scorn  for  him, 
and  a  curious  disregard  for  his  honor,  which 
she  would  probably  injure  the  very  moment 
she  felt  disposed  to  rouse  him,  perhaps  in 
mere  wantoness  of  spirit,  to  a  pitch  of  mad- 
ness. He  forgot,  all  the  while  he  was  betray- . 
ing  his  jealousy  of  her,  and  loading  her  with 
the  vilest  suspicions,  what  his  own  conduct 
had  been.  He  thought  only  of  the  name  of 
Westchester,  placed  on  a  pinnacle  of  enow, 
being  smirched  by  this  woman ;  he  did  not 
remember  what  he  had  himself  done  to  dark- 
en it.  He  had  been  a  heartless  libertine,  and 
he  looked  back  upon  his  past  with  compla- 
cency. He  tried  to  find  cut  the  past  of  Con- 
stance, so  that,  if  he  found  it  not  as  spotless  as 
purity  itself,  he  might  denounce  it  in  terms 
which  would  have  no  limit  in  their  harshness. 
He  had  feared  that  she,  his  supposed  wife, 
could  alone  defame  him ;  he  began  to  be  af- 
frighted now,  not  only  that  he  should  himself 
destroy  the  fair  reputation  the  name  of  West- 
Chester  yet  bore,  but  that  he  should  give  to 
the  Marchioness  the  right  to  turn  round  upon 
kirn,  and  crush  him  with  indignant  wrath  at 
being  the  victim  of  his  deception,  and  with 
her  bitter,  scornful,  insulting  taunts,  one  of 
which  yet  rankled  like  a  poisoned  barb  in  his 
heart. 
,  He  paced  the  room  literally  beside  himself 


with  agony  and  consteration.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  The  man  must  be  seen  and  silenced. 
It  was  strange  that  he  never,  for  a  moment, 
questioned  the  truth  of  the  statements  in  the 
letter.  He  remembered  the  device  of  the 
mock  wedding ;  he  believed,  at  the  time,  that 
ii  had  been  excellently  acted  ;  he  remembered 
now,  with  a  pang  which  was  almost  insupport- 
able, that  at  the  very  moment  that  he  was 
going  through  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  sham 
ceremony,  he  was  struck  by  the  thought  that, 
if  that  were  a  mockery,  the  real  one  was  little 
better.  He  recollected  that  he  had  been  re- 
proved by  the  disguised  clergyman — as  he  had 
imagined  him  to  be — for  not 'then  making  the 
responses  clearly,  audibly,  and  correctly,  and 
that  he  had  compelled  him  to  do  so.  He  re- 
membered, with  startling  vividity,  placing  the 
ring  upon  thefinger  of  Ada — all— all  that  had 
passed,  even  to  her  throwing  herself  into  his 
arms,  murmuring,  "My  dear,  dear  husband!" 
and  his  own  response  of*  My  sweet  wife  1" 

He  groaned  in  despair.  Ay — what  was  to 
be  done  ?  The  girl  was  living,  was  his  true 
wife,  and  a  lunatic !  The  very  idea  filled  him 
with  distraction ;  for  he  loved  not  her,  but 
loved  Constance  with  a  mad  passion,  which 
grew  stronger  with  every  rebuff  from  her, 
and  every  jealous  suspicion  he  received  and 
entertained  of  her. 

He  taxed  his  brain  for  some  course  to  steer, 
but  his  thoughts  ran  so  wild  he  could  not  col- 
lect them  ;  ne  could  not  shape  out  a  path. 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  escape  an  interview 
with  the  man  who  had  assumed  the  name  oi 
Captain  Parrott ;  but  what  was  likely  to  fol- 
low it,  he  was  unable  to  conjecture.  To  listen 
to  what  he  had  to  say,  to  receive  his  proposal 
for  the  purchase  of  his  secret — perhaps  at  the 
price  of  half  his  fortune — were  the  only  pal- 
pable ideas  which  presented  themselves,  and 
to  this  most  unpleasant  necessity  he  was  con- 
vinced he  must  bow. 

He  was  about  to  give  orders  respecting  the 
reception  of  Captain  Parrot,  when  a  refer- 
ence to  his  letter  showed  to  him  that  he  had 
made  his  appointment  for  the  precise  time  at 
which  the  letter  in  the  handwriting  of  a  woman 
assured  him  the  Marchionees  would  be  keep- 
ing an  assignation  with  some  person  at  the 
Countess  of  Newmarket's  reception. 

It  was  impossible  to  remain  away  from  the 
Countess's,  although  it  was  his  intention  to 
proceed  there  alone,  and,  if  possible,  to  enter 
there  unannounced.  But  what  was  he  to  do 
with  Captain  Parrot  during  the  time?  He 
snatched  up  the  letter  of  the  Countess  of 
Brftckleigh,  and  re-read  it.  The  writer  evi- 
dently knew  that  a  wrong  to  him  was  intend- 
ed ;  for  she  was  particular  in  mentioning  his 
honor,  the  hour  of  appointment,  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  not  breathing  a  word  of  bis  inten- 
tion to  join  the  Countess  of  Newmarket's 
party.  He  rang  his  bell  sharply,  and  on  hia 
valet  entering,  he  said  : 

"  Send  Lady  Westchester'a  waiting-woman. 
Fane,  for  me,  I  wish  to  give  her  a  ifceaenge  to 
—a — a—her  mietreBB." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


187 


The  valet  disappeared,  and,  shortly  after- 
ward. Fane  made  her  appearance,  looking 
prettier  than  ever— and  BO  demure ! 

She  stood  at  a  respectful  distance,  and  the 
Marquis  eyed  her  face  closely  and  eearchingly . 

"This  girl  cannot  be  deceitful,"  he  thought 

He  crumpled  the  Countess's  letter  iu  his 
hand,  and  said,  in  a  somewhat  bland  tone : 

"  Come  closer,  Fane,  I  desire  to  speak  with 
you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise,  and 
a  sudden  flush  rushed  up  into  her  cheek.  She 
drew  closer  to  him  slowly,  until  she  stood  be- 
side his  table. 

*'  You  have  served  Lady  Westchester  for 
Eome  years,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  she  replied,  meekly. 

"  And  faithfully,  I  have  no  doubt  ?"  he  pur- 
sued. 

"  I  hope  so,  my  Lord,"  she  answered,  hum- 
bly. 

"  Lady  Westchester  has  been  kind  to  you  ?" 
he  suggested,  somewhat  artfully. 

"  O,  yes,  my  Lord,  very  kind,"  responded 
Fane,  quickly. 

"And  rewarded  you  liberally  for  serv- 
ices which  you  have  rendered  to  her  ?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  Her  Ladyship  has  been  very  kind  to  me, 
my  Lord,  and  1  hope  I  am  very  grateful  to 
her  for  it,"  responded  Fane,  as  demurely  as 
before." 

"  And  you  are  very  devoted  to  her,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  he  added,  eyeing  her  face  atten- 
tively. 

"  Very,  my  Lord,"  she  returned,  calmly. 

"  And  you  would  rather  suffer  death  than 
betray  any  one  ot  her  secrets,  I  suppose?"  he 
said,  with  a  sickly  smile. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  He  saw  that 
they  wore  an  expression  of  undisguised  sur- 
prise. 

"My  Lord !"'  she  ejaculated,  interrogatively, 
as  though  she  did  not  hear  aright. 

He  repeated  his  remark. 

She  shook  her  head  and  let  her  eyes  fall 
again.  As  they  drooped,  they  rested  upon  the 
open  letter  upon  the  table,  and  she  saw,  with 
a  feeling  of  curiosity  and  surprise,  the  signa- 
ture appended  :  "  You  Know  WHO  !" 

"  My  Lord,"  ehe  returned,  as  though  she 
had  not  noticed  that  epistle,  and  it  was  not 
running  in  her  mind,  "I  was  not  aware  that 
my  Lady  had  any  secrets,  and  if  she  had,  I  am 
quite  sure  that  she  would  not  intrust  them  to 
a  person  so  tumble  as  myself." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  rising  up  he  paced  the 
*ocm,  muttering  with  grating  teeth : 

"  There  is  no  difference  in  women,  they  are 
all  alike  ;  and  if  there  ia  one  thing  more  than 
another  for  which  they  have  the  least  regard, 
it  is  truth.  This  girl  is,  I  am  sure,  deep  in 
Lady  Westchester'e  confidence,  yet  she  affects 
to  know  nothing  but  what  such  a  servant 
ehould  know. 

He  tamed  to  Fane,  who  bad  placed  her  back 
to  the  letter,  which  was  lying  ou  the  top  of 
eorae  koae  papers,  and  said : 


"How  is  the  health  of  Lady  Westches- 
ter?" 

"  Improving,  my  Lord,"  replied  Fane,  look- 
ing up  at  him  under  her  eyebrows,  somewhat 
too  archly  for  the  relation  in  which  she  ttood 
to  him. 

"Ah!"  he  answered,  removing  his  eyes  from 
hera,  quickly.  "  I  am  plea— I  am— glad— ah 
— that  is  well.  Has  your  Ladyship  taken  an 
airing  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  she  replied,  in  a  simple 
tone. 

"She  has?"  inquired  the  Marquis,  brusque- 
ly, "  when  ?— what  for  ?" 

"  Only  for  an  hour  or  two,  my  Lord,"  re- 
turned Fane,  as  if  slightly  frightened  ;  "  her 
Ladyship  went,  I  think,  only  to  her  milliner's, 
my  Lord." 

"That  answer  was  a  very  unsatisfactory  t>ne, 
for  it  confirmed  his  suspicions  respecting  her 
intended  appointment  at  the  Countess  of  New- 
market's, on  the  following  night. 

'•Does  Lady  Westchester  go  out  to-mor- 
row ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  my  Lord,"  she  replied. 

"  Are  you  fcure  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Quite,  my  Lord,"  she  returned. 

"  You  would  know  if  she  were  going  to— to 
— a  reception  say?"  he  said,  eyeing  her  earn- 
estly. 

She  looked  at  him  archly  again,  so  that  he 
once  more  withdrew  his  eyes. 

"O,  yes,  my  Lord,"  she  replied,  in  a  very 
ready  tone. 

"And  you  have  heard  nothing  of  any  such 
intention  on  the  part  of  my  Lady  ?" 

"  I  have  not,  my  Lord,"  she  replied  prompt- 
ly, and,  it  seemed,  a  little  decisively. 

At  this  moment  the  servant  entered  with 
more  letters,  and  the  card  of  Lord  Nihilalbum, 
saving  that  he  requested  to  see  him.  • 

"  You  may  go,"  said  the  Marquis  to  Fane, 
and,  courtesy  ing  very  low,  she  glided  out  oi 
the  room. 

The  letters  which  the  Marquis  had  received 
last  were  unimportant,  and  be  turned  them 
aside,  and  proceeded  to  another  room,  in  order 
to  see  Lord  Kihilalbum. 

In  the  meantime,  Fane  returned  to  the  Mar- 
chioness, briefly  related  to  her  what  had  pass- 
ed between  her  and  the  Marquis,  spoke  of  the 
letter  signed,  "  You  KNOW  WHO"  ;  and  when 
the  Marchioness  expressed  the  greatest  anxiety 
to  know  its  contents,  Fane,  to  her  amazement, 
produced  it  and  handed  it  to  her. 

The  Marchioness  perused  it  like  one  in  a 
stupor.  Yet,  with  an  extraordinary  effort, she 
seemed  to  keep  herself  collected.  She  drew 
out  a  pocket-book,  made  extracts  from  it,  and, 
when  she  ended,  she  returned  it  to  Fane. 

"  Replace  it  in  the  same  spot  from  whence 
you  took  it.  It  must  not  be  knowrn  that  I  have 
seen  it,"  she  said,  with  hurried  excitement. 

Fane  hastened  back  silently  and  swiftly  with 
it  to  the  study. 

While  conversing  with  Lord  Nihilalbuin,  the 
Marquis  remembered  that  the  letter  from  Cap- 
tain Parrot  was  lying  open  upon  a  table  in  hia 


188 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


study.    He  abruptly  quitted  his  lordship,  and 
hurried  thither. 

The  rcotn  was  untenanted,  and  the  letter 
was  lying  where  he  had  placed  it. 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
"  In  whose  saloons,  when  the  firs^  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled, 
The  valley's  loveliest  all  assembled  ; 
All  the  bright  creatures  that,  like  dreama 
Glide  through  its  foliage,  and  drink  beams 
Of  beauty  from  Us  founts  and  streams. 

Maids  from  the  West,  with  snnbright  hair, 
And  from  the  Garden  of  the  Nile, 

Pelicate  a«  tne  roses  there— 
JDaugh'ers  of  love  from  CN  prua  rocks, 
With  Faphian  diamonds  in  their  locka— 
Light  Peri  forms,  such  as  there  are 
On  the  gold  meads  of  Candahar ; 
And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyes, 

la  their  own  bright  Cathayan  bowers 
Sparkle  euch  rainbow  butterflies. 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flowers 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  Jay  sighing, 
Had  been  by  magic  all  sec  flying  ! 

Everything  youog,  every  thing  fair, 
Prom  east  and  west  is  blushing  there." 

— T.  MOORS. 

Floret,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  appear 
calm  and  collected,  and  at  her  ease,  experienc- 
ed mucli  inward  excitement  during  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  following  the  visit  of  the  Coun- 
tess of  Brackleigh  to  her.  She  looked  forward 
to  the  evening's  ordeal  with  a  feeling  ekin  to 
fear,  which  strengthened  as  the  time  approach- 
ed. 

She  endeavored  to  sustain  herself  as  the  day 
wore  -on,  by  assuring  herself  that  she  had 
nothing  to  apprehend ;  and  yet  there  were 
silent  appeals  to  her  sense  of  dignity,  and  it 
almost  seemed  of  propriety,  from  a  still,  email 
voice,  which  pressed  upon  her  suggestions  that 
it  would  have  been  better  not  to  have  adopt- 
ed the  mode  selected  by  the  Countess  for  ap- 
pearing before  her  parents  at  a  moment  when 
they  would  b«  powerless  to  repulse  her.  Bet 
ter  for  her  own  sake,  and  for  theirs. 

Indead,  among  the  many  foreshadowings  of 
what  might  that  night  occur,  which  would 
force  their  way  into  ter  mind,  came  the  im- 
pression that  it  would  be  precisely  in  such  an 
assemblage  that  the  Marchioness  tnd  the  Ear 
not  only  could  with  impunity,  but  would,  with 
cold  and  dogged  firmness,  wholly  ignore  her  ; 
would  treat  her  with  frigid  scorn,  and,  if  ap- 
pealed to,  taunt  her  with  being  a  cheat  and  an 
impostor. 

It  was  strange,  perhaps,  that  this  latter 
reflection  urged  her  to  persevere  with  her  pur- 
pose; for,  however  susceptible  she  might  be  to 
Kindness,  her  nature  was  not  one  to  brook 
scorn — the  very  thought  that  she  might  be 
treated  with  contumely  by  those  who  ought  to 
regard  her  with  gratified  pride,  roused  her  to 
resistance,  impelled  her  to  dare  any  heartless 
attempt  to  crush  her,  and  to  retort  upon  it,  by 
a  bold  and  persistent  prosecution  of  her  right. 

It  was  certainly  a  long,  painful,  diaquieting 
day  to  her. 

To  Ida  it  was  one  of  flatter,  of  fever,  of  ex- 
pectation, of  the  wildest  conceptions,  cf  the 


grandest  imaginings,  of  the  proudest  hopes, 
and  of  many  email  regets. 

Had  she  been  called  upon  to  play  Floret's 
part,  it  is  doubtful  whether  she  would  have 
been  in  anything  like  the  same  state  of  excite- 
ment ;  bat  she  was  so  anxious  that  Floret 
should  turn  out  as  grand  a  lac/  as  she  WAS 
supremely  beautiful ;  she  was  so  desirous  that 
she  should  be  received  and  regarded  by  the 
great,  the  lofty,  and  the  noble,  as  a  being  su- 
perior even  to  themselves  ;  she  did  so  heartily 
wish  that  every  handsome  young  peer  would 
resign  himself,  heart,  and'soul,  and  mind,  to  the 
throes  of  an  intense  admiration  the  instant  h$ 
beheld  Floret,  and  that  the  haughtiest  and 
highest-born  maidens  would  bend  before  hex? 


ness  ;  ehe  did  so  hope  that  she  would  be  weJ 
corned  with  delight,  would  be  honored,  and 
receive  homage  from  all  present,  so  that  if  by 
chance  her  unknown  parents—for  Ida  kne»r 
not  who  they  were,  or  were  supposed  to  be—-, 
should  happen  to  be  there,  they  would  spring 
forward  with  ecstasy,  and  claim  with  joy  ana 
happiness  their  long-lost  child. 

And  her  small  regrets  were  comprised  in  her 
fears  that  Floret  would  not  be  able  to  wear 
those  adornments  which  should  enable  her  to 
rival  the  richest  and  noblest  dame  present  at 
the  reception. 

There  were  so  many  little  essentials  required 
to  make  up  a  perfect  style  cf  drees,  and  they 
were  all  so  expensive,  and  BO  much  beyona 
Floret's  means,  that  she  knew  that  ehe  could 
not  have  them  ;  and  when  she  thought  of  the 
sidelong  glanco  of  disdain  with  which  some 
proud  and  rich  young  beauty  would  look  upon, 
any  short-comings  which  might  be  palpable 
in  Floret's  attire,  from  want  of  those  means, 
she  sighed  with  vexation,  and  hated  with  all 
her  heart  the  imaginary  proud  and  rich  young 
beauty  of  the  sidelong  glance. 

O !  how  flhe  sighed  for  illimitable  wealth, 
that  she  might  drees  and  adorn  Floret  as  she 
could  wish  to  see  her  appear!  and  how  she 
sighed  with  vexation  to  think  that  wealth  does 
not  come  at  a  wish  I 

One  thing  she  eet  her  heart  upon,  and  that 
was,  to  see  Floret  dressed.  After  long  cogita- 
tions, and  speculations,  and  contrivances,  she, 
in  a  roundabout,  rambling  fashion,  extracted 
from  Floret  a  description  of  the  way  toBrack- 
leigb  Mansion,  and  she  expressed  much  dis- 
appointment to  learn  that  Floret  was  unac- 
quainted with  the  situation  of  the  Countess  of 
Newmarket's  residence. 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Floret  could 
elicit  from  her  the  object  with  which  she  pur- 
sued her  inquiries,  but  at  last  it  came. 

She  had  formed  the  intention  of  waiting  at 
the  door  of  Braskleigh  Mansion,  that  ehe 
might  eee  Floret  enter  the  carriage  on  her 
way  to  the  reception,  and  of  then  Jaurrjing  to 
the  residence  of  the  Countess  of  Newmarket,  in 
order  that  she  might l>ehold  her  alight  and  enter 
with  her  proud  step  and  noble  bearing  a  grand 
house,  which  she  was  entitled  bj  her  birth  to 
visii. 


OH,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIUI* 


180 


Floret  was  tench  moved  by  this  proof  of  ber 
gi&ction  BO  artlessly  expressed ;  and  she  folded 
h«r  aims  about  ber,  and  kiseing  her  fondly, 
told  ttr  that  she  should  go  with  her  in  the 
carriage  to  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh's  ;  that 
she  should  belp  her  to  dteas ;  and  that  she 
should  rot  only  flee  her  depart,  but  remain 
there  asd  see  her  return.  Poor  Ida  was  almost 
delirious  with  delight  by  the  arrangement. 

At  four  o'clock  precisely,  the  brougham  of 
the  Countess  of  Braekleigh  called  for  Floret 
at  Mrs.  Spencer's.  Both  she  and  Ida  were 
ready  dressed,  awaiting  its  arrival,  and  they 
immediately  ..ctered  it,  and  were  conveyed  di- 
rect to  the  mansion,  where,  by  the  instructions 
of  the  Countess,  they  were  set  dawn  at  a  pn 
ate  intrance. 

Subtle  was  in  waiting  to  receive  them,  and 
the  Countess  met  them  at  the  door  of  her 
apartment.  She  was,  at  first,  surprised  at  the 
appearance  of  Ida ;  but  when  she  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  cause,  she  smiled,  and  wel- 
comed her  kindly ;  eo  that  she  felt  at  .her  ease, 
and  was  able  to  admire,  with  wonder  and  pleas- 
ure, tbe  splendor  of  apartments  surpassing  in 
magnificence  any  she  had  ever  Been. 

Tne  dressing  of  "a  woman  for  a  grand  party 
must  be  a  very  formidable '.affair.  We  profess 
to  know  nothing  of  the  details— nothing  about 
it,  in  fact — saving  that  there  have  been  occa- 
eiona  upon  which  we  have  commenced  an  elab- 
orate adornment  of  our  person  about  five  hours 
after  the  fair  party  who  was  to  be  our  partner 
for  the  nonce,  and  have  ended,  without  the 
possibility  of  adding  another  touch  of  improve- 
ment, some  two  hours  before  she  had  complet- 
ed her  toilet,  and  then  we  were  assured  that  the 
sail  fair  party  had  attired  herself  with  unex- 
ampled rapidity. 

Floret  certainly  did  not  prove  an  exception 
to  this  woman's  rule,  and  when  the  clock 
etruck  eleven  her  toilet  was  not  quite  finished. 

The  hairdresser  had  presented  himself,  ex- 
celled himself,  and  departed.  A  second  maid 
of  tbe  couHtess's,  the  dressmaker,  and  Ida,  had 
all  by  turns,  and  sometimes  together,  exercised 
their  most  consummate  ekill,  and  their  unique 
experience,  upon  Floreo's  adornment,  and  had 
not  completed  their  labor  of  love — for  such  it 
'must  be  to  help  to  make  more  beautiful  that 
which  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  nature — a 
young,  lovely,  innocent  girl — when  the  Coun- 
tess, magnificently  dressed,  made  her  appear- 
anoe,  followed  by  Subtle  bearing  a  series  of 
jewel-cases. 

Ida  half  screamed  when  they  were  opened, 
for  there  was  a  tiara,  a  necklet,  brooches,  and 
all  of  diamonds  ot'tbevery  first  water. 

The  Countess  pointed  to  taem— 

*'  You  must  wear  these  ornaments,"  she  said 
to  Floret,  with  a  suppressed  sigh.  "  Tbey 
were  a  wedding-gift  from  iny  father  to  me, 
and  are  valuable  enough  to  serve  as  a  dowry 
for  a  duchess/' 

Floret  wore  her  beautiful  b*\ir  plain  upon 
the  temples,  and  brought  behind  her  ears, 
where  it  was  looped  up  in  plaits  exquismvel} 
Arranged;  the  tiara  of  diamonds  suited  her 


style  of  countenance  perfectly,  and  gave  to  her 
addition*!  grace  and  majesty  of  appearance. 

Tbe  rest  of  the  superb  jewels  fulfilled  their 
respeciive  duties,  and  completed  Fioret'8  ap- 
pe«rance,  which,  as  the  Counter  declared,  was 
faultless. 

Poor  Ida  pressed  her  hands  together  as  she 
gazed  upon  her  with  tears  of  joy.  Sue  was  un- 
able to  utter  a  word;  but  ehe  thought  her 
more  transcendently  lovely  than  she  had  ever 
dreamed  the  fairest  of  her  sex  could  be  made 
to  appear. 

Floret  did,  indeed,  look  beautiful ;  she  had 
more  than  her  mother  s  beauty,  all  her  grace 
of  form,  aed  her  peculiarly  lofty  beariaj?.  Her 
dreas  fitted  her  to  perfection,  end  seemed  as 
though  human  hands  had  never  touched  it. 
Its  fashion  was  such  a*  to  set  off  h«r  figure  to 
advantage,  while  the  extreme  delicacy  of  its 
colors,  with  their  pureailyery  tone,  were  espec- 
iaJy  adapted  to  harmonize  with  her  clear, 
snowy,  transparent  complexion. 

And  leading  ber  by  t tie  band,  as  though  she 
were  a  princess,  the  Countess  descended  with 
her  the  grand  staircase,  and  p-ietecl  through 
the  hall,  where  the  servants  were  arranged  to 
do  them  homage,  and  look  on  Fioret  with  eyes 
of  wonder — and  of  approbation — for  they  de- 
cidedly approved  of  the  appearance  <of  the 
countess's  "young  potterdjay",  which,  by  the 
way,  was  their  familiar  mode  of  pronouncing 
the  word,  protegee. 

As  they  were  whirled  on  in  the  Countess's 
handsomest  equipage,  ehe informed  Fioret  that 
she  had,  during  the  morning,  paid  a  visit  to  the 
Countess  of  Newmarket. 

**  I  was  very  anxious  to  see  her  on  your  ac- 
count, Floret,"  she  said ;  "  I  had  m'sch  to  say 
that  was  impossible  to  put  into  a  letter  without 
provoking  unplepant  surmises  and  more  em- 
barrassing questions.  I,  therefore,  Bought  an 
interview  WHO.  her,  to  say  to  her  eimply  this  : 
*  A  young  lady  friend  of  mine,  nobly- born,  but 
who  has  cot  yet  been  brought  out,  resembles 
in  a  very  remarkable  degree  a  lady  of  haul  ton, 
who  will  be  one  of  your  guests  to- nig  at.  I 
know  you  love  a  sensation ;  the  young  lady 
has  a  v  ery  striking  appearance,  and  is  sure 
to  command  attention,  and  I  wish  that  to  every 
inquiry  respecting  ber  name  the  answer  to  be 
returned  shall  be '!ACOQNITA'.  Bytnatnarae 
I  wish  her  to  be  announced,  by  that  came 
alone  I  desire  her  to  be  known.  Your  ladyship 
may  rely  on  my  word  and  my  position  that 
the  introduction  is  genuine  and  unexceptiona- 
ble.' Those  were,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, the  words  which  I  used;  at  ail  events,  it 
was  the  substance  of  them.  The  Countess,  as  I 
expected,  entered  with  enthusiasm  into  my 
views,  and  expressed  her  willingness  to  keep 
up  your  incognito  aa  completely  as  her  entire 
ignorance  of  j  our  name  and  history  will  enable 
her.  You  may,  therefore,  Floret,  my  dear 
child,  be  quiie  at  ease,  and  free  from  all  em- 
barrassment. You  will  be  regaroed  as  on  the 
level  of  all  there,  and  will  meet  wuo.  noihicgin. 
the  shape  of  a  taunt,  direct  or  implied.  You 
will  eimply  be  the  Unknown,  and  the  family 


190 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


fciatory  of  every  peer  will  be  gone  over  to  As- 
certain to  which  of  them  you  belong." 

Floret  felt  too  excited  to  answer.  She  bow- 
ed, and  bowed  gratefully  too ;  for  she  felt  how 
great  was  the  advantage  the  Countess  had  ob- 
tained for  her. 

The  carriage  now  fell  abruptly  into  a  line  of 
others,  and  walked  slowly  on  for  some  distance. 
Floret  saw  a  diox  throng  effaces,  which  were 
turned  toward  the  carriage-window  with  eyes 
of  admiration,  and  her  heart,  although  she 
strove  Jto  suppress  it,  began  to  beat  wildly. 

And  now  the  carriage  stops  ;  the  door  is 
swung  open,  and  the  steps  are  let  down  with  a 
crash,  and  the  Countess  was  handed  out. 
Floret  followed  ;  some  one,  she  saw  not  whom, 
assisted  her.  She  heard  a  rapid,  murmuring 
buzz  of  admiration  as  she  stepped  lightly  on 
the  crimson  cloth  which  lined  the  covered  way 
from  the  carriage  to  the  hall.  It  sprang  sim- 
ultaneously from  the  mouths  of  those  who 
thronged  the  pavement,  and  who  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  as  she  alighted.  It  made  her 
elevate  her  head,  and  walk  with  a  prouder 
step. 

At  this  very  instant,  she  heard  a  whisper. 
It  was  but  a  whisper,  but  it  pierced  her  ear 
like  an  arrow. 

It  said: 

"THE  POOR  GIRL." 

She  turned  her  head  instantly  in  the  direc- 
tion from  whence  the  voice  proceeded. 

She  beheld  the  face  of  Liper  Leper,  flis 
brilliant  black  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her 
with  a  gleam  of  admiration  and  delight. 

She  heard  him  ejaculate : 

"  God  ii  just  I" 

The  next  instant,  her  hand  was  seized  by  the 
Countess,  and  she  could  only  through  her  dim 
eyes  see  throngs  of  faces  and  moving  forms, 
and  her  dulled  ears  could  hear  only  a  strange 
chorus  of  voices,  uttering  cries  of  which  she 
could  comprehend  nothing.  She  smelt  the 
faint  odor  of  exotics,  and  a  sensation  passed 
over  her  frame  which  made  her  fear  that  she 
should  swoon  away. 

The  Countess  pressed  herTiand  sharply. 

''Courage,  Floret,"  si*e  whispered  to  her. 
"  Your  face  is  as  white  as  marble.  You  musb 
exert  yourself  now.  Kemember  from  whom 
you  sprang,  and  sustain  the  position  to  which 
you  were  born.  You  are  already  observed." 

These  few  words  re-animated  Floret,  and  she 
drew  herself  up  erect,  but  still  everything  ap- 
peared a  mere  haze  to  her. 

She  entered  a  splendid  saloon,  in  which  was 
seated  the  Countess  of  Newmarket,  surround- 
ed by  a  group  of  distinguished  persons,  re- 
csiving  her  guests.  • 

"  The  Countess  of  Brackleigh-- Incognita," 
shouted  a  voice,  announcing  the  former  and 
Floret. 

Attracted  by  the  peculiarity  of  Floret's 
adopted  name,  every  eye  of  the  group  was 
turned  upon  her. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  burst  from  the 
lips  of  all. 

"  Incognita  "  appeared  to  be  not  only  the 


most  beautiful  girl  who,  perhaps,  had  ever 
entered  that  gorgeous  saloon,  but  she  wai 
literally  blazing  with  diamonds,  which,  in  thd 
estimation  of  those  who  beheld  her,  rendered 
her  position  unequivocal. 

The  Countess  raised  her  glass  to  her  eye, 
and  glanced  rapidly  over  Fleret's  appearance. 
She  looked  perfectly  amazed. 

She  beckoned  the  Countess  to  her  side  in- 
stantly. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Lady 'Brack- 
leigh," she  said.  "I  am  equally  proud  and 
delighted  to  receive  your  fair  and  lovely  young 
friend,  Incognita.  My  beautiful  child,  accept 
my  congratulations.  Your  ensemble  is  a  mer- 
ve'lle.  ^  Countess,  you  have  rendered  me  a  dis- 
tinguished favor ;  add  to  it  another  as  great 
by  remaining  with  your  fair  charge  by  my 
side  for  a  short  period." 

"  With  pleasure,"  responded  the  Countess. 

"Delicious!"  ejaculated  the  Countess  of 
Newmarket,  with  one  of  her  pleasantest 
emiles.  "  My  reception  to-night  will  be  the 
white  stone  of  the  season." 

Every  eye  of  the  group  which  surrounded 
the  Countess  was  fastened  upon  Floret,  and 
as  this  party  was  composed  mostly  of  young 
men  of  high  birth  who  were  curvetting 
through  this  portion  of  their  life,  Floret's 
beautiful  face  and  figure  were  specially  formed 
to  attract  their  undivided  attention,  while  her 
diamonds  and  her  dress  drew  upon  her  the 
notice  of  the  dowagers,  the  young-old  dames, 
and  the  old-young  maidens,  while  those  who 
more  fairly  resembled  her  could  not  help 
calling  the  attention  of  their  brothers  or 
friends  to  "  that  pretty  creature". 

The  Countess  of  Newmarket  was  able  by 
experience,  though  still  a  young,  fine,  hand- 
some woman,  to  observe  thai  Floret  was  flat- 
tered, and  not  quite  at  ease,  while  under  the 
glare  of  every  eye.  She,  therefore,  entered 
into  conversation  with  her,  and  spoke  to  her, 
and  treated  her  in  such  a  manner  that  she 
began,  gradually,  to  feel  more  calm  and  col- 
lected, to  be  enabled  to  look  with  comprehend- 
ing eyes  upon  the  scene  in  which  she  was  evi- 
dently playing  so  conspicuous  a  part. 

"Who  is  she?  Who  is  she?"  quickly  ran 
round  the  salon  in  whispers  ;  those  who  knew 
the  Countess  of  Brackleigh  came  up  to  her 
on  the  pretence  of  inquiring  after  her  health, 
and  then  requested  an  introduction  to  Floret, 
which  they  received,  beincr  favored  only  with 
the  name  of  Incognita.  Then  men  began  to 
ask  each  other : 

"  Have  you  seen  Incognita?"  '•  No !"  "  Oh, 
by  Jove !  She  is  with  the  Countess  of  Brack- 
leigh. The  loveliest  pearl.  "Can't  find  out 
who  she  is.  Nevaw  saw  anything  so  pawfect 
befaw,  by  Jove!" 

The  Countess  of  Newmarket  every  now  and 
then  kept  gazing  on  the  fair  young  face,  as 
with  an  expression  of  ad  miration  it  was  turned 
toward  the  beautifully-dressed  women,  upon 
the  handsome,  well-formed  men,  and  uon 
the  splendidly-decorated  apartment. 
ehe  gazed  with  a  puzzled  look. 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOH  GIRL. 


193 


Presently  she  said  to  Foret,  in  a  low  tone  : 

«« I  do  not  intend  to  take  any  unfair  adyan- 
lage  of  you,  or  to  extort  from  you  by  a  side- 
winded  remark,  to  whom  you  are  connected, 
but  I  think  I  shall  alight  presently  upon  some 
of  your  relatives." 

Floret  colored  slightly,  and,  forcing  a  smile, 
fihe  gently  shook  her  head. 

"  Indeed,  I  shall,"  continued  the  Countess. 
"I  recognize  your  features  as  being  familiar 
to  me.  I  am  convinced  that  they  closely  re- 
semble those  of — " 

"  The  Marchioness  of  Westehester !"  loucly 
exclaimed  a  voice,  unnoticing  a  new  arrival. 

A  loud  and  unequivocal  buzz  of  surprise 
greeted  that  proud  and  haughty  woman,  as 
witli  perfect  self-possession  and  majesty  of 
mien  she  moved  slowly  and  grandly  toward 
the  Countess  of  Newmarket. 

An  exclamation  of  astonishment  burst  from 
the  lipa  of  the  latter. 

She  gazed  at  the  Marchioness,  and  then  at 
Floret,  and  again  back  from  one  to  the  other. 

The  Marchioness  wore  a  dress  of  magnifi- 
cent silk,  the  pattern  of  which  was  precisely 
the  same  as  that  in  which  Floret  was  attired ; 
it  was  made  in  the  same  fashion,  and  trimmed 
in  exactly  similar  style. 

Tne  Marchioness  wore  her  hair  plain  over 
her  temples,  and  looped  in  small  exquisitely- 
finished  plaits  at  the  back  of  her  head.  Upon 
her  brow  she  wore  a  coronet  of  diamonds ; 
round  her  white  throat  was  a  circlet  of  dia- 
monds ;  her  neck,  her  waist,  her  wrists,  blazed 
with  diamonds; 

If  it  had  been  pre-arranged  thai  Floret  and 
she  should  resemble  each  other  as  closely  as 
could  be  possible  in  their  attire,  they  could 
not  have  more  perfectly  succeeded. 

The  Countess  of  Newmarket,  with  extended 
eyelids,  looked  at  the  Countess  of  Brack- 
Leigh  for  an  explanation,  but  the  Countess 
only  replied,  in  an  undertone,  and  with  evi- 
dent excitement : 

"  Do  me  the  kindness  to  introduce  me  and 
my  companion  to  the  Marchioness.  Tou  shall 
know  all  at  a  future  time." 

The  Countess  found  it  impossible  to  resist 
this  bribe,  and  as  the  Marchioness  of  West- 
Chester,  who  had  noi  yet  seen  Floret,  ad- 
vanced to  her,  with  a  glittering  eye,  and  a 
etrange,  defiant  kind  of  smile  upon  her  lip,  the 
latter  said,  after  the  first  few  words  of  recogni- 
tion had  passed : 

"  Permit  me,  Lady  Westchester,  to  have  the 
honor  of  making  two  introductions  to  you. 
You  will  be  delighted." 

The  Marchioness  bowed,  and  turning,  faced 
her  deadliest  enemy. 

"The  Countess  of  Brackleigh—  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Westchester,"  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  in  a  light  and  laughing  tone. 

The  Marchioness  seemed  to  contract  and 
freeze  into  ice.  She  nearly  closed  her  eyes, 
and  made  not  the  slightest  gesture  or  move- 
ment in  response  to  the  very  low  and  sarcas- 
tically-profound obeisance  which  the  Countess 
made  to  her. 


"  Let  me  present  the  eeeond  lafly,  Marchion- 
ess," continued  the  Countess,  not  observing 
the  manner  of  the  Marchioness,  for  her  atten- 
tion was'  occupied  by  the  expression  upon 
Floret's  face.  Her  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
the  countenance  of  her  mother,  and  her  fea- 
tures seemed  to  express  an  anxious  hope  that 
she  would  meet  with  some  unusual  attention 
from  her. 

"  You  must  make  the  acquaintance  of  my 
charming  young  friend,"  she  continued,  •'  and 
that  for  very  obvious  reasons.  The  Marchion- 
ess of  Westchester— Incognita.  I  have  no 
better  name  to  offer  you,  Lady  Westchester ; 
you  must,  like  the  whole  of  us,  be  content 
with  it,  and  find  out  the  riddle  if  you  can." 

The  Marchioness  opened  her  eyes,  and  they 
rested  on  Floret's. 

For  the  space  almost  of  a  minute  their  eyes 
rested  on  each  other's,  and  seemed  in  their 
searching  gaze  to  be  endeavoring  to  penetrate 
down  to  their  respective  hearts,  to  decipher 
what  was  passing  there. 

Those  who  stood  around  gazed  in  silent 
wonder  at  the  pair  who  so  remarkably  resem- 
bled each  other,  more  even  as  they  stood,  each 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  other's  counte- 
nance, than  they  had  done  previously. 

For  an  instant  their  faces  were  exactly  alike, 
and  then  an  expression  inexpressibly  touch- 
ing stole  over  Floret's  features.  She^gazed  at 
Constance  with  a  passionately  beseeching 
look.  Mute  as  the  appeal  was,  it  was  far  more 
powerful  than  if  it  had  been  made  in  words 
of  ardent  eloquence  —  but  it  was  made  ia 
vain. 

While  Floret's  countenance  was  full  of  earn- 
est, tender,  pitiful  entreaty,  her  mother's  gra- 
dually became  set  and  rigid ;  her  eye,  which 
for  a  moment — for  a  moment  only — appeared 
soft  and  liquid,  changed  its  aspect  to  a  cold., 
stony  stare. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly  away,  and 
glancing  at  the  Countess  of  Newmarket,  with 
a  look  of  ineffable  scorn,  she  moved  slowly 
away. 

Strange,  perhaps,  it  was — perhaps  the  voice 
of  nature  would  be  heard,  fcfhe,  as  she  depart- 
ed, turned  her  eyes  furtively  upon  Floret's 
face,  and  a  cold,  icy  pang  went  through  her 
heart. 

The  young,  sweet  face,  which  a  moment  be- 
fore had  been  instinct  with  sorrowful  tender- 
ness, was  now  white  as  death,  its  features  were 
rigid,  and  her  eye  had  the  same  pitiless,  stony 
glance  which  she  had  the  moment  before  lev- 
eJed  at  her. 

She  felt  her  step  totter  and  her  crest  fall— • 
the  girl,  in  her  innocence  and  in  the  assertion 
of  her  right,  looked  so  proud,  and  regarded 
her  with  such  crushing  scorn.  She  increased 
her  pace,  and  moved  toward  a  floral  recess, 
and  hurried  at  a  yet  swifter  rate,  as  she  beard 
the  voice  which  all  the  evening  had  been  lust- 
ily exercised,  announce : 

"  The  Earl  of  Brackleigh !" 

"  Do  not  mention  my  name  or  my  presence 
for  the  present,"  abruptly  exclaimed  the 


192 


[HAGARLOT; 


Countess  of  BracHeiph  to  her  b  isles*.  Sbe 
ep  t  to  ia  a  tone  of  entreaty,  and  the  Guac- 
teiB  uodd«d  assent. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  glided  away 
with  Floret,  stunned,  bewildered,  unconscious 
of  wbtitwas  paeeing  around  her. 

A3  they  m->v*-d  away,  Lord  Nihilalbum,  who 
was  ore  tt'tie  gueetB,  and  whose  attention  bad 
bfcn  drawn  to  Floret  by  a  young  peer,  an  ea- 
tlmai-etic  admirer  of  ft  male  loveliness,  ex- 
claimed: 

"  Montbwouthly  odd  !  Ine»gnitaw,  too?  A 
—  viiy  —  ir.'th  —  a  —  widiculouthly  pwepothte- 
woutb,!  Tbawmuthcbe  tbome  outwageouth 
ntitht>ke.  I  willfollaw  thith  Incognitaw  and 
athkhiw—  who  the  deuil  the  ith.  I'm  a— 
thurelkaow  Law.'  —  waiha  flowawgurl.  Thith 
will  be  an  adventhaw—  the'th  BO  vewy  like  the 
Maw<;hionetb—  to  tell—" 

41  Tne  Marquis  of  Vv  estchester  I"  announced 
.the  ineprefisiole  voice. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
**  To  ftich  excess  did  arger,  pcorn,  and  Late 

Trans  i^rt  Mm,  Reasons  gu  d  .use  ligbt  grew  dim, 
And  Passion's  mustering  btoim  oisiorttd  every  iimbt 

So  that  of  Hell's  foul  sprites  the  roost  malign, 
Who  haw  uijwa'cVfd  <te  opeEiugavirtue, 
Cret,t  to  hia  heart  withetill  c.)>l  serpentine, 
.And  at,  ihe  iulna  of  tnoiuht  reclining,  bJew 
To  fUaae  the  spirk*  of  hatred,  till  they  grew 
Hot  for  revenge  ;  j  et  still  he  p  qued,  still  acting 
His  aogry  soul  to  ag  vuy  anew." 

—  TASSO. 

The  Marquis  of  Weetcbester  reached  the 
tnaneion  ot  the  Countess  or  JNtwmarket  rather 
late,  and  in  a  state  of  much,  be*t  aud  pertur- 
baiion,  wbich  was  notditninisbetiby  hearing 
his  name  vociferated  at  e\ery  laudiug',  and  as 
he  entered  ihe  ealoon.  Ioh*d  been  his  wish, 
and,  by  pu*jincf  himself  to  a  little  inconveni- 
ence, he  could  have  easily  manned  ifc,  to  have 
entered  the  builcif  g  and  the  rooms  quietly,  BO 
that  his  name,  if  mentioned,  would  have  reach- 
ed OLly  tbe  e  trs  of  his  hostess  ;  but  a  delay  at 
his  owa  house,  a  longer  delay  in  getting  up^to 
tfce  CouDtets's,  and  tbe  dis  urbing  thoughts 
ivbich  occupied  his  c*i8tracte<1  brain,  caused 
him  to  forget  his  purpose,  until,  bandiog  his 
-«ard  to  the  individual  appointed  to  receive  it, 
he  euddeiily  experienced  tbe  annoyance  of 
hearing  bis  name  jelled  out  in  asbriil,  clear 
voice,  wbich  was  taken  up  and  repeated  by 
other  voices,  undl  be  stalked,  as^hite  as  a 
io  to  the  presence  of  the  Countess  of 


Be  bad  not  even  the  advantage  of  passing 
tip  witi  a  throng  ;  BO  that,  among  the  names  ut- 
t*rtd  in  rapid  tucceetion,  bis  might  have  es- 
caped notice;  but  he  fntered  the  hall  at  a 
Bfaoixentary  lull  of  arrivals;  he  vas  rfcog 
xiiz«:d  by  tbe  eervatt  as  a  man  of  distinguish- 
ed rank  ;  and,  therefore,  tdey  felbitincum 
bent  upon  them  to  pay  homage  to  his  title 
nithi  their  most  v'gcn.UH  power  of  lungs. 

Dunng  tbe  early  part  tf  that  evening  while 
much  o  lequieted  by  reflections  connf  cttd  with 
tbe  comiLg  \ieit  of  a  most  unwelcome  guest 
•lie  hud  caufeed  certain  iuquiiiea  to  be  znaae  re 


spec1  inff  the  movements  of  the  Har*bioi2es&. 

She  wad  eo  suspiciously  quiet,  ehe  Bo'ob- 
siinntely  refased  to  visic  him  in  his  own  apart- 
ments, or  to  receive  him  in  hers,  and  Fane 
kept  PO  Btnciously  out  of  his  way,  tWfc  be  felt 
certain  that  the  statements  in  tfte  ar  onymous 
letter  from  the  Countess  of  BracMleigh  were 
true. 

He  was  at  length  informed  that  the  Mar- 
chioness was  dressing  for  an  evening  f  arty, 
and  that  her  carriage  was  ordered  for  eleven 
that  Light. 

He  responded  only  to  this  piece  of  intelli- 
gence by  ordering  a  servant  to  request  Fane 
to  attend  him.  While  waiting  for  her  t»rrival, 
theoLOst  gloomy  thoughts  passed  through  his 
mind—  thosedesper»ie thoughts,  in<  eed,  which 
only  too  frequently  float  through  the  brain  of 
Ihe  madly  jealous,  who  know  that  tbe  objeefc 
of  their  love  does  not  reciprocate  thtirlove, 
but;  is  bent  on  lavishing  her  affections  upon 
another  person. 

He  tried  to  etifle  or  to  drive  away  a  horrible 
thought  wbich  would  thrust  it.-.elf  into  his 
Blind,  bu5  without  success. 

He  dreaded  the  Marehi  >n€es  making  tn« 
discovery  that  she  was  the  victim  of  an  illegal 
marriage,  that — unintentionally , it  is  true — he 
had  deluded  her,  that  her  marriage  with  him 
was  a  mockery,  and  that  she  was  no  wife  ol 
his. 

He  feared  her  passionate  acorn,  her  bittei 
rcp^cacjep,  lur  disdainful  taunts,  ber  contu- 
melious vituperation  and  scurrility  ;  for  h€ 
eveniooagined  she  would  descend  to  such  vul- 
garity. 

If  tbe  world  were  to  be  informed  tha*  ah€ 
was  not  hia  -wife,  ia  consequence  of  that  titl« 
being  legally  cUioied  by  another,  he  had  no 
doubt  that  Bbe  would  retort  upon  him  and 
upon  the  woild,  by  acquainting  it  that  ehe 
bad  never  been  other  tban  a  phantom  con- 
sort. 

And  he  was  convinced  that  she  would  leave 
Mm,  too,  with  revilings  upon  her  lips,  con- 
tempt in  her  glances,  and  hatred  in  ber  heart 
—  leave  him  to  beetow  upon  a  rival  caresses 
for  wh'ch  be  DOW  j  earned  with  a  ^eeire  which 
had  been  wholly  unknown  to  him  in  the  earner 
portion  of  bis  life. 

But  he  vowtdtbat  this  result,  as  be  prog- 
nosticated ind  woiked  k  out,  should  not  come 
to  paes.  He  determined  to  Btop  tbe  mouth  of 
Cuptain  Parrot  at  any  cost,  or,  'failu-gin  that, 
to  have  the  life  of  hia  rival,  even  at  tbe  cost  of 
hia  own. 

While  in  the  agonizing  throes  cf  three 
maddening  thoughts,  he  continued  to  send  for 
Fane,  but  she  came  net.  She  forwarded  to  him 
u  series  of  evasive  messages,  which  ltd  bin  to 
*xpecther,  '*  presently  ';  but  she  cid  Lot  make 
her  appearance,  and  evidently  did  cotintend 
tj  make  her  appearance  before  him  until  the 
Marchioness  1  ad  departed,  and  Le  did  Hot 
wif  h  to  have  an  itierview  with  her  then. 

Her  last  xneesage  to  him,  in  reply  to  an  im- 
perative one  which  he  had  dispatched  to  her> 
iniormed  him  that  she  was  At  that  moment  ia 


OE,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


193 


eloea  attendance  upon  tlie  Marchioness,  but 
the  instant,  ehe  had  a  few  moments  at  her  dis- 
posal she  would,  "  with  pleasure",  wait  upon 
Jura.  There  was  something  extremely  offen- 
sive to  the  Marquis  in  the  form  in  which  this 
communication  was  given  to  him,  and  he  de  • 
ter mired  to  send  no  more  messages  to  the 
woman,  if  she  did  not  shortly  attend  him. 

Ten  o'clock  came :  he  ordered  his  valet  to 
dress  him.  Eleven  o'clock  struck:  bis  toilet 
was  completed,  but  Fane  had  neither  appeared 
nor  sent  to  him. 

He  hurried  to  a  room  which  overlooked  the 
court yard,  end  he  eaw  the  Marchioness'  car- 
riage standing  there,  with  the  coachman  doz- 
ing upon  the  box.  He  was  about  to  turn  away, 
when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  slight 
bustle  beneath  him.  He  gazed  eagarly  down, 
and  eaw  a  servant  run  nimbly  to  the  carriage- 
door  and  open  it;  he  beheld  a  vailed  lady 
spring  nimbly  into  it ;  he  heard  the  clang  of 
the  steps  aa  they  were  rattled  up,  and  the 
bang  of  th«  coach-door.  He  saw  two  of  his 
tall  footmen  spring  upon  the  footboard  at  the 
back  of  the  carriage  ;  he  heard  one  of  them 
call  out : 

"Ther  Kenties  of  ITewmeklm's." 

And  the  carriage  rolled  swiftly  away. 
_  With  globules  of  cold  and  clammy  perspira- 
tion gathering  thickly  upon  his  forehead,  he 
hurried  back  to  hia  study  with  the  intention 
of  ordering  his  brougham  to  be  brought  round 
to  the  door  instantly. 

He  found  Fane  there  awaiting  him.  She 
appeared  to  have  taken  unusual  pains  with  her 
at  die,  and  looked  very  pretty  and  very  at- 
tractive. 

The  moment  ehe  perceived  that  his  eyes 
were  fixed  sternly  upon  her,  she  smiled  with 
affected  coyneea,  and  dropped  her  eyes  upon 
the  ground. 

He  started,  and  bit  his  lip  with  anger. 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?"  he  asked,  sharp- 
ly and  harshly. 

Quite  unaffected  by  his  sternness  of  manner, 
she  raised  her  eyes  slowly,  and  looking  at  hia, 
steadfastly  and  archly,  replied  in  a  somewhat 
low  tone : 

"I  thought  your  lordship  wished  rather 
anxiously  to  gee  me — and  alone,"  she  added, 
glancing  quickly  and  furtively  round  the 
apartment. 

"  I  wished  to  put  a  few  questions  to  you, 
certainly,  woman,"  he  retorted,  sternly  and 
haughtily, ' '  but  the  information  which  I  ex- 
pected to  obtain  from  you  I  have  acquired 
without  you.  You  can  go." 

"  I  am  willing  to  answer  any  question  your 
lordship  may  wish  to  put  to  me,"  she  return- 
ed, in  an  artfully  modulated  voice  ;  and,  with  a 
peculiarly  modest  and  demure  Isok,  which, 
however,  did  cot  appear  innocent  or  ingen- 
uous, she  added  :  "  I  am  sure  I  am  ready  to 
tell  your  lordship  anything  I  know  ;  I  don't 
wish  to  conceal  anything  from  your  lordship  ; 
I  am  too  much  attached  to — O !  I  beg  your 
lordship's  pardon  most  humbly— I  meant  to 
eay,  I  have  far  too  great  respect  for  your  lord- 


ship to  keep  anything  hidden,  fro.si  -/OUT  lord- 
ship with  which  I  ana  acquainted.  and  which 
your  lordship  ought  to  know." 

The  Marquis  by  no  means  approved  of  this 
style  of  addressing  him  ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  matter  of  her  speech  which  made 
him  nibble  at  her  bait. 

He,  however,  would,  not  look  at  her  eyes, 
which  every  now  and  then  she  turned  full  upon 
him,  evidently  with  the  purpose  of  attracting 
his ;  but  nearly  c]osing  his  lids  over  his  own, 
he  said,  coolly  and  sternly  still : 

"  What  is  there  you  know,  which  you  pre- 
sume I  ought  to  know  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say,  my  Lord,"  she  return- 
ed, artfully,  «*but  perhaps  if  your  lordship 
were  to  question  me — a — kindly— my  Lord— 
a — I  mean — my  Lord,  without  terrifying  me — 
I  might  be  able,  perhaps,  to  prove  to  you,  my 
Lord,  that  there  ia  something  going  on,  my 
Lord,  which  your  lordship  ought  to  know." 

If  there  were  anything  of  a  secret  and  im- 
proper nature  transpiring,  in  reference  to  the 
acts  of  the  Marchioness,  who,  he  thought, 
would  be  so  likely  to  be  acquainted  with  it  as 
this  woman,  who  was  constantly  in  attendance 
upon  her  ? 

He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was  twenty  min- 
utes past  eleven. 

"f- cannot  attend  to  you  now,"  he  said,  has- 
tily ;  "  I  have  an  engagement  of  importance 
calling  me  at  this  moment — " 

The  door  abruptly  opened,  and  a  servant 
entered,  followed  by  a  tall,  bronzed,  military- 
looking  man,  who  was  dressed  in  a  dark  frock- 
coat,  buttoned  up  to  the  neck,  round  which 
was  a  black  military  stock. 

"  Captain  JParrot,  of  the  Sydney  Mounted 
Rifles  I"  exclaimed  the  servant. 

Fane  was  instantly  all  eyes  ;  she  stared  at 
the  man's  face,  his  attire,  his  form,  features, 
every  characteristic  by  which  she  would  know 
him  again— stared  at  him  with  such  a  stead- 
fast and  curiously  meaning  look,  that  the  Cap- 
tain's notice  was  attracted  to  her. 

To  be  the  object  of  inspection  to  such 
charmicg  eyes,  eet  in  so  pretty  a  face,  was 
more  than  Captain  Parrot's  strength  of  mind 
could  permit  him  to  observe  unnoiiced  or  un- 
moved ;  he,  therefore,  deliberately  smiled,  and 
slightly  nodded  at  her. 

The  Marquis,  who  was  gazing  upon  him  with 
a  disturbed,  excited,  and  searching  scrutiny, 
saw  this  little  episode  with  great  offence  ;  he, 
therefore,  scowled  at  Fane,  and  pointing  to 
the  door?  said,  angrily : 

"  Go,  Woman !  I  will  speak  to  you  further 
in  the  morning." 

Fane  glided  swiftly  put  of  the  room.  As 
she  passed  the  Captain,  she  raised  her  eyes 
wilh  an  arch  look  to  his,  which  caused  him  to 
a^ain-  respond  with  an  approving  smile.  Then 
ehe  disappeared,  muttering,  as  soon  as  she 
was  alone : 

"  That's  the  man.  That's  Mr.  « You  Know 
Who !'  I  thought  it  would  be  hard  if  I  didn't 
get  to  eee  him,  and  it  *ill  be  harder  still  if  he 
don't  try  to  see  me  again— that  is,  if  1  know 


194 


HAGAli  LOT  ; 


anything  of  his  abominable  sex.  Won't  I  get 
e^eryttiDg  out  of  him  ?  Men  are  fools,  there 
ia  no  doubt  about  that?" 

The  Marquis,  in  the  meantime,  motioned  to 
bia  servant  to  place  a  chair  for  his  guest,  and 
retire. 

The  instant  they  were  alone,  the  Earl  said 
to  him,  hurriedly  and  excitedly. 

"Warlock,  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
again.  I  never  expected  to  discover  that  I 
had  been  so  basely  treated  by  a  man  to  whom 
I  had  behaved  so  well." 

"  My  Lord,"  interposed  the  man,  whom  he 
•called  Warlock,  "  we  have  not  met  now  to  call 
each  other  names,  but  to  talk  business." 

"  Very  well,"  returned  the  Marquis,  quick- 
ly. "  Then  I  will  be  prompt  with  you.  What 
if  to  me  it  is  worth  ten  thousand  pounds  to 
prove  that  I  have,  by  a  first  marriage,  a  wife 
living,  and  that  I  am  therefore  able  to  get  rid 
entirely  of  my  present  Marchioness.  Tell  me 
what,  in  such  a  case,  would  be  the  value  of 
my  secret,  as  you  term  it,  to  you  ?" 

"  Why,  ten  thousand  pounds,  of  course,"  re- 
joined Warlock,  instantly,  with  a  cool  and 
complacent  manner. 

"  How?"  inquired  the  Marquis  dryly. 

11  Simply  enough,"  returned  Warlock  readi- 
ly; "because  I  can  prove  your  first  mar- 
liage!" 

'•  But  so  can  I,"  retorted  the  Marquis,  quick- 
ly and  significantly,  "  and  without  your  aid, 
which,  aa  a  purchasable  commodity,  would  be 
to  me  worth  nothing.  I  could  easily  substan- 
tiate my  declaration  that  I  have  been  previous- 
ly married,  by  a  reference  to  the  chapel,  the 
Bituation  of  which  I  remember,  and  I  could 
trace  out  the  clergyman,  no  doubt,  without 
difficulty.  I  could,  now  that  you  are  in  Eng- 
land, compel  you  by  a  supcena  to  appear  in  a 
court  of  justice,  and  upon  oath  state  what  you 
know.  I  could  make  you  reveal  everything, 
and — " 

"  Ah ! — to  be  sure,  of  course,  face  tke  pen- 
alty of  the  law,  and  so  forth,  my  Lord,"  in- 
terrupted Warlock,  snapping  his  fingers ; 
"  that  all  sounds  very  well,  but  that  is  a  point 
I  have  not  overlooked.  I  have  not  blundered 
blindly  on  to  you  ;  I  have  made  inquiries,  and 
I  know  that—" 

"  You  know  nothing,  fool !"  cried  the  Mar- 
quis, impatiently.  "  I  tell  you  that  the  very 
L'ixt  half-hour  may  make  your  note  to  me 
fche  most  welcome  boon  I  ever  received  in  my 
life,  or  it  may  induce  me  to  purchase  your 
Bilenee  with  a  sum  which  to  you  will  be  a  for- 
tune. But  I  cannot  stay  to  parley;  while 
discussing  the  worth  of  your  knowledge,  I 
may  lose  the  opportunity  of  discovering  a 
circumstance  which  may  make  it  valuable  to 
me,  and  therefore,  of  some  considerable  worth 
to  you.  You  must  either  remain  quietly  in 
this  room,  witkout  attempting  to  move  from 
it  until  my  return,  or  you  must  call  upon  me 
to-morrow"." 

'*  We  must  settle  our  preliminaries  EOW," 
returned  the  man,  with  a  sullen,  determined, 
dogged  look.  He  did  not  like  the  tenor  of 


the  remarks  which  had  fallen  from  the  lipj  ol 
the  Marquis. 

The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  a  fierce  look 
of  authority,  ana  said  : 

'•Mdke  your  election.  Yon  will  go  or  re- 
main ;  an.d  decide  at  once,  or  I  will  decide  for 
you." 

<l  I  can't  part  with  you,  my  Lord  Marquis, 
until  some  arrangement  has  been  come  to,"  per- 
sisted the  man,  Warlock,  with  a  firm  and  de- 
cidve  manner. 

"  I  have  already  intimated  to  you,"  rejoin- 
ed the  Marquis,  haughtily,  "  that  it  is  not  for 
you,  but  for  me,  to  make  terms.  I  may  re- 
ject your  overtures  with  contempt,  and  dare 
and  defy  any  revelation  which  you  may  have 
the  rascality,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ingrati- 
tude, to  make,  if  I  think  fit,  without  any  jus- 
tifiable fear  of  the  consequences ;  or  I  may 
see  the  advantage  of  taking  you  once  more 
into  my  confidence,  and  of  employing  you 
upon  certain  matters  in  which  your  peeuliar 
skill  may  be,  as  it  has  been,  successfully  dis- 
played. But  I  cannot  listen  to  any  menaces, 
nor  will  I,  Again,  I  tell  you,  that  I  have  not 
a  second  to  spare,  and  you  must  decide  one 
way  or  the  other." 

"  How  long  will  your  lordship  be  away  from 
this  ?"  inquired  the  man,  not  at  all  approving 
of  a  position  which,  expecting  to  rule  with  a 
high  hand,  he  found  to  be  a  little  too  much 
the  other  way. 

"  It  may  be  an  hour  ;  it  may  be  less,  it  may 
be  more.  I  cannot  say,"  replied  the  Marquis, 
coldly.  "  I  may  return  very  shortly,  I  may 
be  detained  for  some  time ;  but  I  shall  be 
sure  to  retura  here,  and  I  shall  be  equally 
sure,  then,  to  know  the  way  in  which  it  will  be 
best  for  me  to  regard  your  communication." 

"I  will  remain  till  you  come  back,  my 
Lord,"  said  Warlock,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion. 

<k"I  will  send  you  some  wine  instantly,"  re- 
sponded the  Marquis.  "  Do  not  address  a 
servant,  nor  utter  a  word  until  my  return." 

He  passe^  out  of  the  room,  and  closed  the 
door  behifid  him.  He  summoned  his  valet, 
and  said  to  him,  in  a  low,  peremptory  tone  : 

"  I  have  left  a  person  in  my  library — he 
was,  years  since,  a  servant  of  mine,  and  I 
wish  to  extort  some  information  from  him 
which  he  is  disposed  to  communicate.  Take 
some  wine  to  him ;  do  not  converse  with  him, 
but  lock  him  in  so  that  he  cannot  leave,  and 
keep  your  eye  upon  the  door  until  my  returnr 
which  I  anticipate  will  be  shortly  after 
twelve." 

As  he  concluded,  he  hurriedly  descended 
the  stairs  ta  the  hall,  passed  quickly  through 
ifc,  leaped  into  his  brougham,  and  was  driven 
rapidly  to  the  mansion  of  the  Countees  of 
Newmarket. 

He  walked,  with  a  quick,  nervous  step,  up 
te  the  Countess,  on  entering  the  salon,  and 
paid  her  a  few  brief  congratulations  and  corn- 
olirnentB  upon  fcer  good  looks  and  the  brilliant 
p^aracter  of  her  assembly. 

She  appeared  not  to  listen  to  wn» 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


195 


saving,  but  to  be  occupied  with  a  curious  and 
earnest  scrutiny  of  hia  features.  Presently 
she  said,  in  a  tone  which  surprised,  piqued, 
and  irritated  him  : 

"  Sorry  to  see  you  look  ao  white  and  jaded, 
Westchester— you  are  not  well,  I'm  sure. 
Nothing  happened  te  fret  you,  I  hope •?" 

41  Your  Jadyship  is  aa  full  of  quiz  and  ban- 
ter as  ever,  I  perceive,"  he  responded,  with  a 
grim  smile. 

"  Not  to  you,  Westchester,"  she  returned, 
showing  her  white  teeth  in  a  smile.  "  You 
are  something  like  the  lordly  tiger,  not  quite 
the  subject  to  joke  with.  By  the  by,  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  have  succeeded  in  creating  an 
immense  sensation  to-night." 

"  Your  ladyship  cannot  fail  to  achieve  that 
triumph  whenever  you  appear  in  public," 
suggested  the  Marquis,  with  the  same  grim, 
cold  smile. 

"That  compliment  is  very  stale,  West- 
Chester,"  she  rejoined,  laughing  with  unaffect- 
ed enjoyment ;  "  but  it  ia  novel  from  your 
lips ;  for  you  looked,  when  you  said  it,  like 
the  royal  tiger  which  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, as  though  you  would  snap  me  up  at  a 
mouthful—" 

"  I  assure  your  ladyship,"  interrupted  the 
Marquis. 

"  That  I  should  be  a  very  pleasant  mor- 
sel," interrupted  the  Countess,  laughing,  and 
slightly  raising  his  hand.  "  Yes,  I  have  fre- 
quently been  told  so;  but  be  good  enough 
to  listen  to  me  without  interruption,  West- 
Chester,  for  I  am  exceedingly  anxious  to  draw 
your  attention  to  the  matter.  You  know  that 
I  am  fond  of  doing  things  unlike  any  other 
person,  and,  to-night,  I  have  here  present  a 
young  and  lovely  girl,  decked  out,  I  admit, 
in  jewels  that  should  be  worn  by  her  mam- 
ma ;  but  such  jewels  1  She  is  of  high  birth, 
that  I  know ;  but  she  has  not  yet  been  brought 
out.  She  is  here  to-night,  that  the  world  may 
talk  of  her  before  she  takes  the  lead  of  fash- 
ion, which  she  is  sure  to  do.  The  world,  how- 
ever, has  not  been  permitted  to  know  her 
name— her  descent  is  as  noble  as  your  own, 
Weatchester — but,  to-night,  I  can  only  be- 
come acquainted  with  her  by  the  soubriquet  of 
Incognita.  I  do  not  think  Lady  Westchester, 
who  has  seen  her,  feels  disposed  to  enter  into 
this  piece  of  pleasantry,  and  I  imagine  she 
feels  less  inclined  to  accept  an  introduction 
which  comes  before  her  in  a  shape  not  per- 
fectly en  regie.  But  those  present,  Westchest- 
er, who  know  me  well,  are  quite  ready  to  ac- 
cept my  guarantee  that  the  birth  and  position 
of  the  young  lady  are  unimpeachable,  and  to 
enjoy  the  riddle,  for  such  it  is— and,  at  most, 
a  harmless  ons.  Pray,  Westchester,  proceed 
yonder,  where  you  will  find  Incognita,  chaper- 
oned by  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh.  Look  at 
her  features  and  figure,  her  tout  ensemble,  and 
then  return  to  me,  and  tell  me  whether  you 
ccn  make  her  out." 

This  Marquis  was  surprised  at  this  commu- 
uication.  As  it  opened,  he  regarded  it  as  a 
tedious  bore,  for  he  was  anxious  to  be  upon 


the  trail  of  his  Marchioness,  that,  unobserved, 
he  might  watch  her  every  action  without  ap- 
pearingjto  do  so.  The  mention  of  the  feame 
of  the  Coijntess  of  Bracklogh,  had  however, 
startled  liifn,  and  at  once  invested  with  con- 
siderable interest;  that  which  he  would,  other- 
wise, have  looktxl  upon  as  a  mere  piece  of 
caprice  and  fashionable  folly  on  the  part  of 
his  hostess. 

As  he  hastened  away  in  the  direction  in 
which  the  Countess  of  Newmarket  Lad  indi- 
cated, he  encountered  Lord  Nihilalbum,  who 
instantly  laid  his  finger  upon  his  arm,  an£  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Haw !  Wethchethaw,  I  am  delighted  to 
meet .  with  yaw.  The  thwangetht  thircum- 
thanthe  hath  occawed.  Haw — it  will  twitht 
youaw  withible  muthleth  into — haw — the 
dwolleth  thcwew  pothible!" 

"  Another  time !"  responded  the  Marquis, 
a  little  impatiently.  "I  am  looking  after  a 
lady,  whom,  I  fear,  uuless  I  am  quick  in  my 
movements,  I  may  mies!" 

"Incognitaw,  of  coawth!"  responded  his 
lordship. 

Ine  Marquie  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  he  asked. 

"  Haw  !  have  I  not !"  he  replied,  with  a  si- 
lent grin.  "  Eveywbody  ith  tawking  about 
haw.  She'th  a  pothitive  wage  jutht  now,  and 
evewbody'th  taken  in  with  haw.  Theaw  will 
be  thuch  a  wow  when  the  twuth  cometh  out ; 
the  Counteth  will  have  to  twy  a  change  ot' 
aiaw— do  Mont  Bianc,  or  the  White  Nile,  or 
the  Mawmon  tewitowy  !" 

" I  do  not  understand  you!"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, regarding  him  with  a  surprieed  and 
haughty  glare  of  inquiry. 

"You  will,  Wethchethtaw,  when  I  intwo- 
duce  Jnoognitaw  to  youaw  notiih.  Attend 
me,  if  you  pleathe  ?"  returned  his  lordship, 
moving  away  in  the  same  direction  as  that 
which  the  Marquis  had  been  taking. 

A  few  paces,  politely  elbowed  through  a 
moving  maes,  and  they  came  upon  a  group  of 
persons,  who,  well-bred  as  they  were,  were 
occupied  in  etaring  steadfastly  at  Floret, 
who  was  seated  on  a  sociable  by  the  side  of; 
the  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  looking  whiter 
than  marble,  and  evidently  distressed  and  un- ' 
happy,  although  she  made  brave  efforts  to  ap- 
pear composed,  calm,  cold,  and  indifferent  to 
the  sensation  she  was  creating,  and  the  admir- 
ation she  was  exciting. 

"Theyawaheitht"  exclaimed  Lord  Nihil- 
album. 

"Almighty  heaven!"  ejaculated  the  Mar- 
quis, as  he  gazed  upon  Floret's  death-like 
face,  and  the  expression  of  haughty  scorn 
given  to  it  by  a  Blight  and  scarcely  percepti- 
ble curl  of  the  lip.  "  The  very  counterpart !" 

"Of  the  Mawthioneth !"  rejoined  Lord  Ni- 
hilalbum. "Yeth,  but  a  meaw  impothtaw. 
How  the  deyvil  the  got  heaw  ith  a  mithtewy. 
But  it  theemth  to  me  that  whatevaw  fweakth 
the  Counteth  of  Newawket  may  choothe  to  in- 
dulge in  hawthelf,  the  hath  no  wight  to  play 
thuoh  pwactical  joketb  ath  thith  upon  people 


196 


HAG  AR  LOT ; 


of  high  wank,  beawth,  and  condition.  I  know 
the  gurl  well ;  she  wath  a  meaw  twamp  at 
wathes  when  a  child — haw— Belling  floweth, 
an'  all  that  thoawt  of  thing." 

"Impossible?"  ejaculated  the  Marquis,  still 
regarding  her  with  an  air  of  eager,  nay,  in- 
tense interest.  "  She  ia  wondrously  like  Lady 
Wesfcchesterl" 

"Thath  the  cwy  in  evawybody's  mouth, 
and  it  ought  to  be  thoppad  by  an  «xpothaw  of 
the  thwindle." 

"  Like  enough  to  be  even  her  own  child  I" 
muttered  the  Marquis,  a  sensation  passing 
passing  over  his  frame  which  could  only  be 
paralleled  by  that  of  death  itself. 

"Pothitively!"  ejaculated  Lord  Nihilal- 
bum,  in  an  undertone,  and  with  some  earnest- 
ness. "  And  that  ith  the  infewanth  which  will 
be  dwawn  byevewy  pawthon  pwethent,  and  it 
will  be  thaweulated  with — haw — fwightful 
wapidity  in  evewy  thuwcle.  Don't  you  we- 
member  haw,  Wethchethtaw  ?" 

"I  do?"  ejaculated  the  Marquis,  gutturally. 

He  recognized,  in  Incognita,  the  young, 
fainting  girl  whom  he  had  seen  borne  swiftly 
from,  tae  private  apartment  'of  the  Marehion- 
ness  by  the  gipsy,  Hagar  Lot. 

"I  thowaght  you  mutht!"  rejoined  Lord 
Nibilalbum,  pulling  his  moustache  nervously. 
Then  he  added,  abruptly:  "lt^  would  be 
pothifcively  madness  to  pawmit  this  jugglewy 
to  go  on.  The  weputation  of  the  Mawtnioneth 
will  be  compwomithed.  You  ought  inthantly 
to  thtep  up  to  haw,  Wethchethtaw,  proclaim 
haw  a  cheat,  and  bid  haw  quit  the  plathe." 
^  But  the  Marquis  was  too  absorbed  in  reflec- 
tions and  remembrances  to  heed  what  fell 
from  Nihilalbum's  lips.  He  was  once  more 
mentally  in  converse  with  the  innkeeper  and 
the  doctor  of  Beachborough. 

"  Haw— if  you  aw  indiffewent  to  thaw  honaw 
of  ouaw  Houthe — haw — I  am  not!"  abruptly 
and  excitedly  exclaimed  Lord  Nihilal'bum. 

In  another  instant  he  stood  before  Floret, 
and  said,  in  a  loud  and  insulting  tone . 

'•Haw,  Incognita w — ha! — look  at  me — haw 
—look  in  my  fathe — haw — don't  youaw  weo- 
ognitiieme?" 

•  Floret  looked  upon  him.  She  did,  indeed, 
recognize  him.  Her  sudden  horror  at  behold- 
ing him  lent  a  whiteness  to  the  colorless  hue 
on  her  cheek. 

The  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  rose  up,  and 
in  a  commanding  tone,  said  indignantly  to 
him  :  "How  dare  you  address  this  young  lady, 
my  friend  and  companion,  with  so  insolent  a 
manner." 

"My  deaw  weak  lady,  let  It  thuffice  for  you 
that  I  shall  be  wethpecfal  to  youaw,"  returned 
Lord  Nihilalbum,  greatly  fluttered.  "  But  if 
youaw  wethigned  undaw  a  motht  impudent 
an«4  outwageouth.  impothtuaw  I  am  not,  and  I 
do  not  intend  to  be.  Why,  I  nevaw  met  with 
touch  a  cat-he  in  the  whole  coawth  of  my  ex 
ithtence.  I  thay  to  you,  gurl,  how  dare  you 
to  obtwude  youawthelf  in  thuch  a  bwilliant 
and  dithtinguithed  thawcle  ath  thith,  I  thay, 
how  dare  you,  a  cheaf— -a— " 


"  What!"ex3laimed  a  clear,  ringieg"  voice, 
sternly — fiercely — interrupting  him  suddenly 
and  decisively. 

Lord  Nihilalbum  at  the  same  moment  found 
that  a  young  and  handsome  man  had  inter- 
posed himself  between  him  and  Floret,  and 
was  glaring- at  him 'with  glittering  eyes. 

Lord  Nihilalbum  paused. 

He  adjusted  his  eye  glass,  and  looked  with 
an  air  of  wonderment  upon  the  individual  who 
had  stepped  between  him  and  his  intended 
victim. 

"  Repeat  one  fragment  of  the  observations 
you  have  just  been  making,"  continued  his  op- 
ponent, speaking  and  trembling  with  intense 
excitement,  "  and  though  it  shall  be  deroga- 
tory to  my  own  dignity  and  to  that  of  those 
in  whose  presence  we  stand,  I  will  wrench  your 
tongue  from  between  your  jaws,  and  crush  it 
beneath  my  heel!" 

"  Haw ! — what  do  you— haw— mean— haw  ?" 
exclaimed  Nikilalbum,  absolutely  petrified 
with  amazement. 

"  This,"  he  returned,  « that  you  have  dared 
to  insult  a  young,  and,  for  the  moment,  a  de- 
fenceless lady— that  you  have  had  the  audaci- 
ty to  utter  publicly  a  flagrant  falsehood, 
which  I  as  publicly  flatly  contradict,  and  will 
compel  jou  as  publicly  to  retract." 

"Haw— who,  pray,  aw  you?"  inquired  his 
Lordship,  besoming  gradually  livid. 

"  Your  superior  in  rank,  as  I  am,  I  trust,  in 
every  attribute  of  manhood,"  instantly  replied 
his  antagonist,  with  scornful  dignity.  "  I  am 
Broadiands,"  he  added,  drawing  swiftly  a  card 
from  his  pocket,  and  flinging  it  in  his  face: 
"  I  regret,  for  many  and  obvious  reasons,  that 
I  should  have  been  drawn  into  such  a  eceve  as 
this.  I  regret  that  I  should  have  been  compell- 
ed to  take  the  present  step,  by  the  aspersions 
of  a  puppy,, who  appears  to  be  as  incapable  of 
comprehending  the  usages  of  civilized  society 
as  he  is  wanting  in  the  feelings  of  a  gen- 
tleman, and  the  instincts  of  common  man- 
hood." 

He  turned  to  Floret,  and,  with  a  respectful 
deference  of  manner,  he  bowed  to  her,  and 
said: 

"  Permit  me  to  have  the  honor  to  attend  yon 
to  your  carriage.  After  such  an  outrage  to 
your  feelings,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  be  anxious 
to  retire." 

"  O  Lord  Victor !"  gasped  Floret,  grateful 
to  him  beyond  all  power  of  description,  as  she 
clung  to  his  proffered  arm.  Then  instantly 
arsise  a  low,  murmuring  buzz  around,  especial- 
ly from  the  the  younger  men,  and  "No!" 
"  No !"  and  "  Shame !"  escaped  eev^ral  lips. 

A  young  peer,  who  krew  Lord  Victor  well, 
stepped  up  t9  him  and  said,  hastily  : 

"  It  is  nnjust  to  the  lady  that  we  should 
permit  her  to  depart.  Tne  fellow  who  has  in- 
eulted  her  cannot  be  for  a  moment  suffered  to 
remain.  It  would  be  a  crowning  insult  to  her 
if  she  were  made  even  for  an  instant  to  feel 
that  it  would  be  proper  for  her  to  retire." 

At  this  instant  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  with 
ajlushed  face  and  glittering  eyes,  stepped  up 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOK  GIRL, 


X97 


to  Victor  ttiidsflisl,  haughtily  and  imperiously, 
&a  lie  glanced  fiercely  at  Floret : 

"  Stay,  I  have  ft  duty  to  perform  here.  I 
have  something  to  say." 

"  You  will  not,  Brackleigh,  dare  to  say  it  in 
my  presence !"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  sud- 
denly interposing  between bim  and  Floret. 

"  JSTor  in  m'tae  I"  exclaimed  the  Marquis  of 
Westchester,  abruptly,  but  with  a  very  delib- , 
erate  emphasis. 

He  had,  while  Lord  Nihil  album  was  en 
gaged  ia  making  his  first  few  insulting  re- 
marks to  Floret,  caught  sigkt  of  the  Marchion- 
ess at  the  entrance  to  one  of  the  conservato- 
ries, speaking  *ith  much  earnestness  to  the 
Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and  that  with  a  familiarity 
of  manner,  although  it  was  the  very  reverse  of 
levity,  which  was  such  as  he  had  never  be- 
fore seen  her  exhibit  to  any  man— even  to 
himself. 

With  a  countenance  of  waxen  whiteness, 
with  glaring  eyes  and  a  heari  which  beat  tu- 
multuously,  he  observed  the  Earl  hastily  ap- 
proaching the  spot  where  he  was  standing. 
He  listened  to  the  first  observations  which  fell 
from  hb  lips  on  reaching  the  group,  of  which 
Floret,  Lord  Victor,  and  the  Countess  ware 
the  centre ;  and  the  moment  the  Countess  fin- 
ished her  reply,  he  took  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion— and  such  a  part. 

The  Earl  gazed  upon  him  with  unequivocal 
surprise.  He  certainly  had  not  expected  to 
encounter  the  Marquis  there — most  assuredly 
not  at  such  a  moment. 

Scowling  malignantly  at  him,  and  for  the 
time  dead  to  every  consideration,  but  one,  he 
repeated  his  words  slowly,  and  with  stinging 
accentuation. 

The  Earl  drew  himself  up,  and  replied, 
haughtily :  . 

"  Nob  3are  ?    You  mistake  me  !" 

"I  am  Westchester!"  replied  the  Marquis, 
slowly,  and  with  contemptuous  bitterness.  "  I 
do  not  mistake  you !  You  ere  Brackleigh— a 
scoundrel — a  liar — and  a  coward !" 

The  Earl  passionately  raised  his  hand  upon 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  to  fell  him  to  the 
earth;  but  a  noblemaa  caught  his  arm,  and 
said,  sharply,  in  bis  ear  : 

"  Brackleigh,  for  Heaven's  sake  do  not  for- 
get yourself!  Remember  where  you  are! 
There  will  be  a  proper  time  and  place  to  set- 
tle this  extraordinary  matter !  Be  calm,  what- 
ever you  do!" 

By  a  powerful  effort  the  E'irl  restrained  his 
passion,  but  his  voice  trembled,  as  he  eaid : 

"My  Lord  Marquis  oi  Westeheater,  I  call 
upon  you  to  retract  your  disgraceful  and  your 
your  false  assertions.  I  insist  that  yoa  recall 
them!" 

"Kofc  a  letter!"  said  the  Marquis,  firmly 
and  deliberately.  "  Mot  with  my  dying  breatu ! 
I  should  be  fttlese  to  my  honor,  and  outrage 
truth,  if  I  were  I" 

The  Earl  champed  his  teeth  and  lipa  to- 
gether. 

"  You  shall  hear  from  me,"  he  said. 

"  Quite  soon  enoughfor  your  courage,  when- 


ever it  may  occur,  but  never  too  own  for  my 
inclination,  if  it  were  now  I"  responded  the 
Marquia,  as  he  stalked  away. 

Poring  this  colloquy  Lord  Victor,  who 
found  Floret  hanging  upon  his  arm  as  though 
she  was  in  a  fainting  condition,  drew  her  away. 
The  Countess  of  Brackleigh,  with  one  of  Flo- 
ret's hands  in  hers,  walking  by  her  side. 
Looks  ef  wonder  and  astonishment  accompa- 
nied them  as  they  quitted  the  room. 

The  Marquis  of  Westchesfcer  observed  the 
Marchioness,  standing,  like  one  bewildered, 
on  the  same  spot  where  he  had  seen  her  speak- 
ing to  the  Ear]  of  Brackleigh.  He  advanced 
toward  her,  but  she  caught  sight  of  him  as  he 
drew  near  to  her,  and  she  moved  hastily  away, 
quitted  the  room,  and  disappeared  before  h« 
could  reach  her. 

He  was  blocked  upon  the  staircase  in  his 
endeavor  to  descend  it  for  more  than  half  an 
hour,  and  on  reaching  the  hall  he  leapned, 
upon  inquiry,  that  the  Marchioness  had  de- 
parted in  her  carriage  for  home.  He  followed 
her  thither. 

As  Lord  Victor  quitted  the  room  with  Fio- 
ret,  LordNihilalbum  dispatched  a  lordly  ac- 
quaintance to  him.  After  a  minute's  confer- 
ence with  him,  this  acquaintance  returned  to 
Lord  Nihilalbum,  who  addressed  him  nervous- 
ly and  eagerly : 

"  Well,  what  doth  he  thay  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  aw  —  Nihilalbum  —  aw  —  I— aw  — 
tawld  him — aw — that  he— -aw— should  hea* 
from  you — aw." 

"  Yeth,"  responded  hia  lordship,  quickly  ; 
"  and  what  did  he  thay  to  that  ?" 

"  Well— aw— ha  said  that  he  should— aw— 
quite  expect  to  heaw  from  you — aw,"  returned 
his  friend ;  "  and  that — aw— if  he  did  not— aw 
— he  should  certawnly  hawsewhip  you  wher- 
evaw  he  met  with  you— aw." 

"Did"  he?''  exclaimed  Lord  Nihilalbum, 
with  undisguised  interest. 

"Ya  as,"  replied  his  friend;  "  and— aw— 
my  bslief  is — aw — that  he  means,  if  you  go 
out  with  him,  to  wing  you," 

"  Hope  he  may  I"  exclaimed  a  voice  near  to 
them;  "justly  desawved,  by  gad  !" 

Lord  Nihilalbum  looked  round,  but  was  un- 
able to  discover  the  speaker ;  end,  plunged 
into  a  state  ef  profound  reflection,  he,  too,  de- 
parted from  the  brilliant  scene. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
Lea3  me  to  her !    I'll  fall  before  her  feet 
Prostrate,  implore,  besiege  her  womaa'a  heart, 
And  with  my  team's  force  lier  to  release  .ma 
From  the  cruel  oath  wbL^h  now  seals  my  lips.  , 
She  will  absolve  me  unless,  alas !  it  be 
Her  heart  id  adamant. 

— THE  OBDUBATB  MOTHER. 

Lord  Victor,  who  had  kept  the  promiso 
whicli  he  had  made  to  himself  to  be  present 
at  the  reception  of  the  Countess  of  Newmar- 
ket, and  who  was  there  under  the  name  of  a 
friend,  whose  card  he  us«d,  quickly  discovered, 
after  Floret's  arrival,  that  ehe  waa  placed  in 
an  ansinaioua  Doaition. 


103 


HAGAR  LOT; 


Her  exceeding  beauty — he  had  cot  conceiv- 
ed that  she  would,  by  the  aid  of  dress  and 
ornament,  look  BO  dazzlingly  lovely — attract- 
ed the  gaze  of  all  beholders,  and  her  tide  ex- 
cited a  variety  of  remarks,  which  annoyed 
him  as  he  listened  to  them.  At  first  he  kept 
aloof  from  her  J;  but  he'gradually  narrowed 
his  distance,  until  he  reached  her  side,  at  the 
very  moment  she  most  needed  his  presence, 
and  when  his  arrival  was  peculiarly  welcome 
to  her. 

He  accompanied  Floret  and  the  Countess  of 
Brackleixh  to  the  carriage  of  the  latter,  and 
pressed  Floret's  hand  as  he  took  his  farewell 
leave  of  her  ;  she  pressed  his  in  return,  and  he 
felt  his  heart  leap  at  her  soft  touch. 

"  I  shall  eee  you  soon  again,"  he  whispered. 

She  gazed  upon  him  with  eyes  which  beam- 
ed with  tenderness,  but  were  suffused  with 
tears. 

"  I  regret  so  deeply,"  she  murmured,  "  as- 
senting to  the  arrangement  which  brought  me 
here  to-night.  Kindness  to  me  alone  was  in- 
tended— I  am  convinced  of  that— but  I  fear 
evil  will  be  the  only  result.  I  pray  you,  Lord 
Victor,  to  let  this  unhappy  event  rest  where  it 
does.  Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  drawn 
into  any  further  complication  on  my  account. 
More  than  enough  has  been  already  done,  and 
my  heart  would  break  if  any  serious  conse- 
quences to  you  were  to  attend  the  painful 
scene  of  to-night." 

He  pressed  her  hand  warmly. 

"  Do  not  fear,  Floret.  Everything  will  go 
well.  At  first  I  regretted  your  presence  at  the 
Countess'  to-night,  but,  en  reflection,  I  am 
deeply  gratified  ;  for,  after  what  has  occurred, 
matters  cannot  rest  where  they  are.  Inquiry 
will  provoke  investigation,  and  justice  must 
and  shall  be  done  to  you.  Good- night,  dear- 
est ;  look  forward  with  bright  anticipations  ; 
and,  for  my  sake,  be  as  hopeful  and  aa  cheer- 
ful as  you  can." 

Floret  was  unable  to  utter  a  word,  but  she 
bent  upon  him  a  look  of  gratefal,  loving 
thankfulness,  which  more  faithfully  conveyed 
her  appreciation  of  his  noble  behavior  to  her 
than  any  language  could  have  done. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  the  carriage 
was  whirled  away. 

_She  sank  back  very  much  saddened  and  dis- 
pirited, and  not  disposed  to  listen  to  or  to 
utter  a  remark. 

If  or  did  the  Countess  exhibit  any  desire  to 
speak.  She,  too,  laid  her  head  back  in  the 
carriage,  and  clasped  her  hands  together,  for 
ehe  knew  that  the  hour  of  retribution,  but 
alao  of  her  humiliation,  was  at  hand. 

Brackleigh  Mansion  was  reached  without 
silence  having  been  broken  by  either ;  and  as 
they  entered  the  hall,  and  the  servants  bowed 
to  them  as  they  passed  through,  Floret  shud- 
dreed,  and  felt  a  passionate  desire  to  rush  to 
the  dressicg-room  and  tear  off  her  splendid 
attire,  as  if  they  were  robea  of  flame  which 
were  consuming  her. 

To  her  joy,  Ida  was  await inglier  ;  and  she 
»:vw  as  she  entered  the  room  that  she  regarded 


her  with  smiles  of  happy  gratulation,  as 
though  she  felt  assured  that  she  had  achieved 
a  brilliant  triumph. 

But  she  saw  the  smiles  fade  rapidly  away, 
and  an  expression  of  pain  cress  her  features, 
as  a  look  of  eager  inquiry  darted  from  her 
eyes. 

"  Not  a  word  to  me,  darling,"  whispered 
Floret,  as  she  folded  her  arms  about  her  neck, 
and  kissed  her.  "  Not  a  word,  until  we  are  at 
home.  Only  hasten  to  help  to  rid  me  of  these 
hateful  things." 

Ida,  with  a  silent  tongue  and  heavy  heart, 
did  as  she  was  requested,  and  Floret  was  soon 
again  attired  in  her  own  humble  drees— what 
a  relief  it  seemed  to  her  to  exchange  it  for  the 
brilliant  robes  she  had  just  cast  off! — and  she 
preeented  herself  before  the  Countees  to  take 
her  leave  of  her. 

She  found  her  seated  still  in  the  same  chair 
into  which  she  had  thrown  herself  on  her  re- 
turn home,  the  very  incarnation  of  woe  and 
despair. 

Floret  had  not,  in  her  bewildered  terror  and 
half- fainting  state,  when  attacked  by  Lord 
SrihilalbuBQ,  observed  the  rencontre  between 
the  Marquis  of  Westchester  and  the  Earl  cf 
Brackleigh :  the  Countess  had.  She  had  seen 
with  fear  the  ashen  countenance  of  the  Mar- 
quis, and  the  deadly  animosity  to  her  husband 
which  was  depicted  upon  it ;  she  onjy  too 
clearly  interpreted  its  meaning — it  meant 
death  without  mercy  to  him.  She  also  at  one 
glance  saw  that  the  murderous  intention  was 
fully  reciprocated  by  the  Earl.  His  face  waa 
flushed,  and  its  expression  was  that  of  en 
anger  which  had  been  roused  by  a  deliberate 
insult,  but  beneath  it  was  a  deeper  and  deadlier 
feeling — a  long  account  of  accumulated  hate, 
which  could  only  be  blotted  out  by  blood 
which  should  absorb,  too,  a  human  life. 

Her  schemiBg  had  brought  the  two  men  to- 
gether. She  was  horrified  at  the  contempla- 
tion of  their  final  parting ;  she  had  not  fore- 
seen the  probable  result.  In  matters  of  re- 
venge, women  seldom,  if  ever,  think  of  the 
consequences.  She  only  thought  that  the  at- 
tention of  the  Marquis  being  brought  to  the 
conduct  of  the  Marchioness  and  the  Ear],  an 
investigation  would  take  place,  and  justice 
would  be  done  in  a  court  of  law — elie  had 
overlooked  an  appeal  to  the  court  of  honor — 
nay,  it  would  be  nearest  to  the  truth  to  eay 
that  she  never  thought  at  all,  but  acted  as  in- 
stinct and  impulse  had  urged  her. 

It  had  come  to  tMs,  that  by  the  following 
dawn  her  husband— if  such  she  might  still  call 
him — would  be  opposed,  with  deadly  weapon, 
to  the  Marquis  ;  and  that  ike  life  of  one  or 
both  would  be  sacrificed,  and  with  either  her 
happiness. 

For  what?  for  whom?— a  woman  whose 
heart  was  more  impenetrable  than  marble, 
and  whose  virtue  she  believed — if  apparently 
like  snow  on  the  surface— was  as  yielding  to 
pressure  as  that  friable,  easily  -dissolvable 
substance. 

Distracted  by  her  thoughts,  she  felt  her 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


199 


action  to  be  paralyzed.  She  knew  not  what 
to  do,  or  how  to  guide  the  storm  which  she 
herself  had  raised  ;  sfce  knew  not  to  whom  to 
confide  her  terrible  previsions.  To  Floret 
she  could  not.  She  knew  that  by  her  act  she 
bad  jeopardized  her  father's  life  and  imperiled 
her  mother's  chastity  in  the  eyes  of  that 
fashionable  world  in  which  she  had  moved  as 
o  Penelope,  treating  every  suitor  with  disdain, 
and  apparently  regarding  the  honor  of  her 
husband  as  her  most  cherished  idol. 

Floret  perceived  the  struggle  which  was 
going  on  in  her  mind,  but  attributed  it  to  the 
conduct  of  the  Earl  to  her,  and  the  humiliat- 
ing position  in  which  it  placed  her.  She, 
however,  thought  that  it  would  be  prudent  not 
to  advert  to  it ;  and  she,  therefore,  in  brief 
terms,  thanked  her  for  the  interest  wLich  she 
had  evinced  in  her  fortunes,  and  regretted  that 
the  result  should  have  proved  so  unsatisfactory 
to  both  ;  she  added  tbat,  the  appeals  made  to 
her  mother  having  failed,  it  now  became  her 
duty  to  herself  to  act  in  such  a  manner  es  to 
compel  an  acknowledgment  of  her  birth,  and 
to  establish  her  right  to  a  proper  position  ;  cr, 
failing  that,  to  retire  into  insignificance,  and 
never  be  eeen  or  heard  of  more. 

The  Countess  bade  Subtle,  in  lew  and  husky 
tones,  to  attend  the  two  young  ladies  to  the 
carriage,  which,  under  her  instructions,  was 
waiting  to  convey  them  home,  and  she  bade 
them  farewell,  adding,  in  strange,  guttural  ac- 
cents : 

"  The  drama  is  nearly  played  out.  Heaven 
help  us !  it  promises  to  end  like  an  awful  trag  • 
sdyP 

Floret  did  not  comprehend  her  meaning ; 
but  taking  Ida  by  the  ^hand,  she  bent  low  to 
the  Countess,  and  passed  out  into  the  corridor, 
wad  BO  down  to  the  hall,  with  a  sense  of  hav- 
ing been  deeply  humbled,  and  with  feelings  of 
mortification,  under  which  her  spirit  was  very 
restive. 

Aa  they  reacted  the  hall,  they  were  startled 
by  a  tremendous  knocking  at  the  door,  which 
the  hall- porter,  with  a  bound,  reached  and 
flung  wide  epea. 

With  a  countenance  pale  and  stern,  the  Earl 
of  Brackleigh  entered  with  a  quick  and 
haughty  step,  and  encountered  Floret. 

Their  eyes  met. 

She  drew  herself  up  ;  that  same  curl  of  the 
email,  beautiful  upper  lip,  which  had  been  so 
remarkable  a  characteristic  of  Constance  Plan- 
tagenetfe  face,  gave  an  expression  of  scorn  to 
his  features,  which  made  him  start. 

She  passed  him^with  a  proud  demeanor, 
and  the  door  closed  behind  her  ere  he  could 
titter  a  word,  or  act  upon  an  impulse  which, 
u.a  he  regarded  her  features,  suddenly  moved 
him. 

"My  God!"  he  muttered;  "if,  after  all, 
CoDstanee  should  have  deceived  me!  Can 
Buck  a  marvelous  resemblance  be  an  accident  ? 
O  !  if  Soel'ey  were  only  living,  the  point  upon 
which  all  this  misery  is  turning  would  at  least 
fcs  Reitled." 

He  inquired,  on  reaching  thi?  apartment,  for 


Nat  Ferret ;  but  he  was  informed  that  a  note 
had  arrived  there  for  him  at  rather  a  late  hour, 
and  be  had  gone  out. 

He  left  word  to  say  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  west,  but  that  he  would  return 
as  soon  as  he  was  able. 

The  Earl  knew  by  this  message  that  the 
note  was  from  Fane,  the  attendant  of  the  Mar- 
chioness of  "Westchester,  and  that  probably 
there  was  some  important  intelligence  to  be 
brought  to  him.  He,  consequently,  resolved 
te  sit  up  for  Nat.  He  had  already  eent  a 
friend,  a  nobleman,  to  the  Marquis  of  West- 
chester,  to  arrange  a  meeting,  for  that  any 
compromise  between  them  could  be  effected 
he  knew  to  be  impossible  ;  it  was  necessary, 
therefore,  to  await  his  return. 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  the  form 
of  Floret  at  once  presented  itself  before  him,  as 
with  wonder  he  had  seen  it  at  tlie  Countess  oi 
Newmarket's*  and  a  few  micutea  previously  in 
his  own  hall,  moving  with  a  stately  and  proud 
mien  past  him. 

Floret  and  Ida  went  on  their  way  home ; 
and  to  the  inquiries  of  the  latter  Floret  had 
little  to  respond — that  little  was  painful  to 
herself,  and  most  unsatisfactory  to  her  com' 
panion. 

She  passed  a  sleepless  night;  that  stony 
stare  which  her  mother  had  turned  upon  her 
haunted  her,  and  roused  her  to  a  determina- 
tion to  act  for  herself. 

She  saw  that  the  whole  chain  of  evidence 
to  substantiate  her  claim  to  be  the  legally 
born  child  of  Lennox  and  Constance  Bertram 
was  complete;  not  a  link  was  wanting;  it 
was  but  to  harden  her  heart  and  to  set  about 
her  task. 

Tfce  hardening  of  the  hearfc  was  a  more  dif- 
ficult process  than  she  thought  it  would  be— 
a  process  in  which  she  met  with  very  little 
success. 

The  following  morning,  she  went  round  to 
the  residence  of  Susan  Vere,  in  order  to  8€e 
Fanny  Shelley  ;  and  she  learned  with  satisfac- 
tion, after  one  day's  perfect  quiefr,  and  two 
nights'  refreshing  sleep,  Fancy  had  found  her- 
self well  enough  to  quifc  her  bedroom,  and  to 
talk  with  them  all  quite  rationally,  and  to  bear 
the  narration  of  events  which  Stephen  first 
and  then  Susan  made  to  her. 

"  She  knows  now  who  you  are,  dear  Floret," 
continued  Susan,  with  glittering  eye*.  «'  She 
knows  that  you  are  the  child  she  brought  to 
Beachborough,  and  who  cost  her  her  reason — 
no — no — I  mean — who  was  reared  there  as  the 
Poor  Girl,  and  who  once  suffered  so  much. 
But  ehe  wishes  so  earnestly  to  eee  yow,  that  if 
you  had  not  come  here  st>  opport«ueJy,  I  should 
have  gone  over  to  your  residence,  and  fetched 
yon." 

Floret  was  overjoyed  to  hear  this  communi- 
cation, and  instantly  accompanied  Suean  into 
a  room,  in  which  she  found  Fanny  seated  with 
Stephen  and  Harry  Yere,  who  were  conversing 
wich  her  in  low  and  gentle  tones. 

As  Floret  entered  the  room,  the  rich  soft 
bro<ra  eyes  of  Fanny  turned  upon  her ;  she 


200 


HAGAR  LOT 


half  rote  up  with  a  cry  of  wonder  and  joy,  and 
reseated  herself  instantly  as  a  feeling  of  disap- 
pointment stole  over  her  features. 

FOP  a  moment  only  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  then  removing  them,  she 
rose  up  once  more,  and  stood  beside  Floret 
with  a  demeanor  of  deference  and  respect. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Fanny  ?"  asked  Floret, 
half  timidly. 

"  Know  you  I  0  yes,  Miss,  I  recognized  your 
features  instantly.  Could  I  ever  forget  them  ?" 
she  replied,  looking  fondly  yet  still  respect- 
fully at  her. 

* '"Whose  features  do  mine  resemble  ?"  asked 
Floret,  breathlessly. 

"  Those  of  your  lady- mother,  Miss,"  con- 
tinued Fanny,  half  thoughtfully,  as  she  perused 
Floret's  lineaments.  "  Yet  these  words  sound 
strangely  in  my  ear,  although  they  fall  from 
my  own  lips.  When  last  I  beheld  her,  she 
looked  scarcely  older  than  you— as  fair  and 
beautiful,  only  haughtier,  prouder,  more  scorn- 
ful in  her  expression." 

"You  speak  of  your  foster-sister!"   Bug- 

tested  Floret,  with  a  wild  palpitation  of  the 
eart. 

"  I  do,  Miss,  of  my  foster-sister  whom  I 
loved  as  I  did  the  breath  of  life,"  she  answer- 
ed, pensively ;  "  my  foster-sister  and  your 
mother!" 

41  And  her  name?"  pursued  Floret,  earn- 
estly* 

"The  world  then  knew  it  as  Constance 
Edith  Plantagenet,"  rejoined  Fanny,  musing- 
ly ;  "  but  I  knew  it  as  that  of  the  Viscountess 
Bertram." 

"  You  were  present  at  her  marriage  ?"  con- 
tinued Floret,  hurriedly. 

"  I  was,  Miss,"  returned  Fanny. 

"  And  attached  your  name  to  the  register, 
as  one  of  the  witnesses  ?"  followed  up  Floret, 
eagerly. 

•'  I  did,  Miss,"  she  answered,  readily. 

Floret,  wi.h  trerabllisg  fingers,  produced  the 
paper  which  Liper  Leper  had  placed  in  her 
hands,  and  opening  it,  spread  it  before  Fanny. 

She  pointed  to  her  signature. 

"  Is  that  j  our  h&ndwritirg?"  ehe  asked,  al- 
most inaudibly. 

Fanny  looked  at  it  attentively. 

"It  is," she  replied,  firmly. 

"  Thank  Heaven  V'  ejaculated  Floret,  with  a 
deep  eigh  of  relief. 

"  But,  in  Heaven's  name,  how  came  you  pos- 
sessed of  that  paper  ?  It  was  ia  a  large  book 
that  I  signed  my  name,"  eaclaiaaed  Fanny, 
with  Burprice. 

"  You  shall  know  all,  shortly,"  responded 
Floret.  "  I  wish  first  of  all  to  establish  my 
identity.  You  will  aid  me,  will  you  not,  ?" 

''With  my  whole  heart,"  returned  Fanny, 
warmly. 

"Do  you  remember  my  birth?"  inquired 
Fbret,  wi.h  faltering  accents. 

"  O,  well — well  I  remember  that  dreadful 
mg'it,"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  pausing,  placed 
her  white,  thin  hand  upon  her  brow. 

Tiiey  all  kept  a  profound  silence. 


Presently  Fanny  raised  her  head,  and  fix- 
ing her  eye  on  vacancy,  said,  in  a  half-dreamy 
tone: 

"  Her  marriage  was  a  secret  one,  and  it  soon 
became  a  dreadful  one  to  keep,  for  she  knew 
that  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother,  juefc 
as  she  discovered  that  he  who  had  seemed  to 
love  her  se>  dearly,  BO  very  dearly,  had  grown 
cold  and  indifferent  to  her — indifferent  to  her, 
who  had  such  a  lefty,  t«wering  spirit,  who 
would  not  pass  an  unintended  slight  by  me 
without  words  of  passionate  resentment.  She 
formed  the  strange  an«l  terrible  design  of  con- 
cealing the  birth  of  her  child.  I  appealed  to 
her ;  I  remonstrated  with  her ;  but  she  rebuked 
me  with  fierce  and  angry  words.  She  struck 
me  in  her  passion,  and  then  went  on  hep 
knees,  and  with  her  arms  about  my  neck,  she 
wept  and  sobbed  wildly  and  hysterically.  I 
could  only  be  silent  and  obey  her  directions. 
We  went  at  her  wish  to  Beachborough.  Hep 
mother,  the  Lady  Henrietta,  objected,  and  she 
stamped  her  foot  at  her;  her  father  demurred, 
and  kim  she  did  not  answer,  but  she  frowned 
angrily  a*;  him,  and  ordered  me  to  pack  up 
.her  clothes  and  mine.  Mr.  Plantagenet  and 
the  Lady  Henrietta  knew  of  our  departure 
only  when  we  were  more  then  half  way  there. 

"  Aod  when  we  got  to  the  abbey  she  select- 
ed the  most  secret,  retired,  and  gloomy  cham- 
bers to  live  in  ;  and  elie  sat  close  with  me  all 
day,  sewing  and  making  clothes  for  the  little 
creature  that  was  coming,  and  whom  she  hated 
with  a  bitter,  unnatural  hate,  even  before  it 
came  into  the  world." 

Floret  groaned  ;  .but  she  stifled  as  well  as  ehe 
could  the  agony  she  experienced,  for  she 
feared  that  if  she  interrupted  Fanny  in  the 
thread  of  her  discourse,  she  might  be  unable  to 
rejoin  the  disjointed  parts. 

"  At  last  the  dreaded  hour  came,"  continued 
Fanny,  still  in  the  easie  low,  earnest,  and 
thoughtful  tcse.  "  It  was  a  dreadful  night,  it 
rained  very  heavily,  and  the  wind  howled,  and 
the  thunder  roared,  and  the  lightning  flashed 
in  sheets  of  flame.  I  went  alone  for  the  doc- 
tor, he  accompanied  me  back  ;  and  in  his  pres- 
ence, that  of  mine,  and  of  God,  only,  was  the 
child  born.  TJie  doctor  placed  it  in  rcy  hands, 
I  attended  to  it9  first  waars,  and  to  those  of 
its  wretched,  Lelplecs  mother.  It  was  I  who 
shielded  it  in  my  erma  when  its  mother  re- 
fused to  look  upon  it,  I  who  bore  it  to  a 
marse,  who  nourished  it.  I,  who,  upon  m^ 
knees  placed  ii  before  her,  when  she  resolved 
to  part  from  it  and  from  me  forever,  when  she 
extorted  from  ms — 

"My  God!" 

She  uttered  a  scream,  and  fell  suddenly  upon 
her  knees. 

"  What  have  I  done  !— -<what  have  I  done ! 
O  my  God !  pardon  me.  I  have  violated  my 
cath  to  preserve  thi?,  her  secret,  sacredly,  until 
she  herself  or  death  absolved  me  from  it.  Go, 
leave  me,"  sbe  cried,  to  Floret ;  ''go,  youh&vo 
made  me  break  oy  vow." 

She  bowed  her  bead  down  upon  the  grou:d». 
and  wept;  and  trembled  ccnraleively. 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


201 


Stephen  Vere  caught  her  from  the  ground, 
and  folded  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Look  up,  Fanny,  girl,"  he  said,  in  a  ten- 
der, bufc  very  earnest  voice  ;  "  lock  up,  girl, 
thee'st  done  no  wrong.  Thee  hast  parted  with 
thy  love— with  reason— nay,  for  a  time  thee 
hast  parted  with  4hy  life,  to  keep  yon  crea- 
ture's sad  secret.  Thee  hast  done,  girl,  thy 
duty  by  her  nobly,  bravely ;  but  thee  hast  a 
duty,  too,  girl,  to  her  who  first  rested  in  thy 
arms  in  this  world,  whose  first  pressure  wae 
not  to  her  own  mother's  bosom,  but  to  thine, 
thine,  girl.  Why,  thou  didst  have  charge  of 
her  ;  thou  didst  vow  to  thyself  to  protect 
her,  and  be  a  mother  to  her;  and  thou  wast 
BO  when  all  the  world  fell  off  from  thee,  when 
even  I—  a  coward  and  a  dog  for  losing  faith 
in  thee— fell  away,  too,  and  would  have  tried 
to  tear  thy  secret  out  of  thy  heart,  even  at 
cost  o'  thy  life  an'  mine.  An'  thou  would'st 
have  been  a  mother  to  her  still,  had  I  not 
carr'd  thee  cff,  wouldst  thee  not?  Thou 
wouldst— I  know  it.  Wilt  thee  desert  her 
now,  girl?" 

He  paused.  Fanny  still  sobbed  violently. 
Stephen  bent  over  ner  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

"  She  has  been  all  her  life  a  poor  girl,  Fan- 
ny," he  continued,  epeakiEg  in  earnest  tones. 
"  A  poor  girl,  my  lass ;  an'  what  do  those 
words  convey  to  thy  mind  ?  Why,  struggles, 
an'  trials,  an'  temptations—everything  but 
happiness,  or  comfort,  or  peace.  A  poor  girl ; 
Fanny,  the  words  go  to  nay  heart  when  I  hear 
thezn,  an'  I  wish  that  I  could  do  what  my  soul 
yearns  to  do,  and  wealth  would  help  me  to  do, 
there  should  not  be  a  poor  eirl  IB  all  the 
world." 

Fanny  only  sobbed  more  bitterly. 

Stephen  gazed  earnestly  at  her,  and  con- 
tinued: 

"  Why,  Fanny,  that  young  and  delicate  crea- 
ture there,  gentle  born,  has  been  bred  as  a 
poor  girl — a  poor,  shoeless  girl.  She,  with  a 
mother  in  a  palace,  an'  a  father  in  a  castle,  has 
been  paddUn'  on  the  bare,  cold,  wet  ground 
without  a  coverieg  to  her  feet.  She  be  a  poor 
girl  still.  Wilt  thee,  girl,  for  the  sake  of 
maintaining  a  weak  promise  made  to  a  hard- 
hearted woman,  doom  this" — he  raised  his 
eyes  to  Floret  aa  he  spoke,  and  she  eaw  that, 
they  were  clouded  with  tears — "  bright  and 
beautiful  youcg  lady  to  be  a  poor  girl  to  the 
end  of  her  days  ?  Wilt  thee  do  this.  Fanny,  an' 
-.an'  keep  my  love  for  thee,  too?" 

Fanny  seemed  convulsed  by  her  emotion  ; 
but  she  raised  her  head  and  gazed  upon  Floret 
with  streaming  eyes,  and,  sinking  upon  her 
knees  at  her  feet,  cried  : 

"Take  me  to  her,  to  Mies  ConstaEce— the 
Viscountess  Bertram,  God  knowa  what  now — 
taka  me  to  her !  I  will  pray  to  her— I  will 
clasp  her  knees— I  will  not  leave  her  until  she 
has  absolved  me  frcm  my  oath !" 

Floret  raised  her  from  her  suppliant  pos- 
ture, and,  twining  her  arraa  about  iicr,  wins- 
pered  tenderly  in  her  ear : 

"Compose  yourself,    dear   Fanny.    Calm 


your  feelings,  and;  when  you  are  stronger  and 
better,  we  will  together  proceed  to  her." 

"Now,"  shall  it  be!"  exclaimed  Fanny,  re- 
leasing herself  forcibly  from  Floret's  embrace. 
"  Not  a  day — not  an  hoar  shall  pass  without 
my  presenting  myself  before  her.  Susan, 
give  me  my  bonnet  and  my  shawl,  I  will  go 
now !" 

Before  Susan  could  answer  her,  she  hurried 
into  her  bedchamber,  and  reappeared  almost 
immediately,  dressed  for  the  street. 

"Come,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  to  Floret. 
"Come;  I  know  the  way  to  Plantsgenet 
House." 

"  Gently,  girl,"  interrupted  Stephen,  sooth- 
ingly ;  "  thee'rt  exciting  tbyself  too  much." 

"fro,  Stephen,"  she  cried,  "I  am  not  mad 
now.  I  have  a  duty  to  perform  ;  you  have 
said  that  I  have,  and  I  will  do  it.  Come— 
come  I" 

As  she  spoke,  she  dragged  Floret  rather 
than  led  her  from  the  room. 

Stephen  Vere  caught  up  his  hat  and  slo\?]y 
followed  them. 

CHAPTER  XLVI; 

<c  Gold  glitters  most  where  virtue  shines  no  more ; 
As  stars  from  absent  sutis  have  leave  to  shine. 
0,  what  a  pretiouspack  cf  votaries 
Uckennel'd  frcm  the  prisons,  and  the  stews, 
Pour  in,  all  opening  in  their  idol's  praise  ; 
All,  ardent,  eye  each  wafture  of  her  hand. 
And,  wide  expanding  their  voracious  jaws, 
Morsel  on  morsel  swallow  down  unchew'd, 
Untasted,  through  mad  appetite  for  more ; 
Gorg'd  tD  tlie  throat,  yefc  lean  asd  ravenous  still. 
Sagacious  all,  to  trace  the  excaUest  game, 
Aad  bold  to  seize  the  greatest."  — YOUNG. 

The  Marchioness  of  Westchester,  gfter  her 
interview  with  Floret,  and  her  subsequent 
scene  with  the  Marquis,  in  which  her  contend- 
ing emotions  had  forced  her  into  a  hysteric- 
al fit,  felt  her  position  to  be  intolerable. 

Possessed  naturally  of  an  order  of  mind  in 
wLich  obstinacy  is  but  too  frequently  mis- 
taken for  firmness,  she  had  for  v  ^  toically 
submitted  to  a  species  of  B^  ^.onnolation  for 
an  idea. 

No  woman  can  bear  to  be  slighted  by  any 
man  with  equanimity.  Scornful  indifference 
from  members  of  her  own  eex  she  is  Lever  un- 
prepared to  receive,  acd  ehe  invariably  re- 
gards them  with  a  sovereign  contempt ;  but  a 
slight  from  a  man  is  a  elur  upon  her  personal 
attractions  and  winning  qualifications  as  a 
woman  ;  and  it  stings  lier,  because  it  wounds 
her  pride. 

She  instantly  hates  the  man  who  offers  ii ; 
and  if  she  can  return  the  coropliment,  she  will 
never  hesitate  to  doit ;  or  if  she  can  offer  re- 
marks calculated  to  wound  his  vanity,  and 
which  she  knows  will  reach  his  ears,  she  will 
assuredly  give  him  the  full  benefit  of  them. 
But  there  it  ends. 

There  is  a  difference,  and  a  marked  one,  in 
the  case  where  the  woman  loves  the  man  who 
slights  her.  She  ia  then  not  content  with  o 
mere  retort.  She  resents.  She  is  spiteful, 
TiciouB,  pauses  at  nothing  to  be  avergtd,  even 


202 


EAGAPw  LOT  ; 


if  when  successful  she  weeps  the  bitterest  tears 
at  her  own  success.  No  rules  are  without  ex- 
ceptions, but  we  believe  that  what  we  here  as- 
Bert  ia  only  too  true  of  the  majority  of  the 
sex,  and  is  the  result  of  the  delicate  charac- 
ter of  their  organization,  which  renders  them 
easily  excitable,  too  prone  to  see  and  imagine 
things  which  have  no  foundation  in  truth,  and 
to  act  upon  hastily-formed  conception?,  even 
to  their  own  unhappy  default. 

This  was  the  shoal  upon  which  the  Mar- 
chioness ran  her  back,  which,  at  the  outset  of 
her  life,  was  freighted  with  happiness,  and 
wrecked  it. 

She  was  possessed  not  only  of  a  keen  con- 
stsiou-nesa  of  her  beauty,  both  of  feature 
and  form,  but  of  a  proud  sense  of  her  descent 
and  her  position.  She  felt— nay,  she  knew, 
that  she  was  in  herself  a  prize  that  any  man 
would  be  enraptured  to  secare;  and  she  made 
no  allowance  for  the  fact  that  possession  very 
much  modifies  the  enthusiasm  which  is  em- 
ployed in  obtaining  it. 

In  the  true,  genuine  spirit  of  a  woman's  love, 
she  gave  herself  heart,  soul,  life,  happiness, 
all  that  was,  indeed,  combined  within  herself, 
an  1  which  she  had  to  bestow  to  Bertram,  a&d 
without  a  reserve. 

She  believed,  without  a  single  misgiving, 
that  to  him  she  was  what  he  had  incessantly 
declared  her  to  be — the  one  sole  object  which 
could  make  life  a  paradise.  "When,  therefore, 
ehe,  after  their  union,  found  him  to  be  less 
profuse  than  he  had  been,  not  only  in  his  ex- 
pressions, but  in  his  acts  of  endearment,  that 
he  did  not  bow  with  such  unreserved  submis- 
sion to  every  caprice  she  had  formed,  and  that 
he  remonstrated  where  he  had  before  yielded 
with  a  fond  smile  and  without  a  sign  of  dis- 
sent, her  pride  took  alarm. 

When  to  these  unsatisfactory  symptoms  he 
displayed  apathy  and  listlessness  in  her  pres- 
ence, instead  of  that  enchanted  rapture  which 
had  distinguished  every  gesture  he  made  to 
her,  she  at  once  imagined  that  his  love  had 
changed  into  indifference,  nay,  that  he  had 
never  loved  ner  at  all.  That,  being  older  and 
more  experienced  than  horeelf,  he,  having 
been  smitten  by  her  personal  charms,  had 
lured  her  into  an  attachment  for  him,  and  had 
tricked,  cheated,  deceived  her.  Nay,  more, 
ehe  believed  that  he  had  grown  tired  of  her— 
of  her! 

Upon  this  supposition  she  had  acted  through- 
out until  within  a  recent  period.  It  had  sus- 
tained her  in  her  dreariest  and  saddest  mo- 
ments—it had  fortified  her  when  she  found 
that  the  chain  which  fastened  her  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Westchester,  and  which  she  had  her- 
self riveted,  galled  her  the  most  bitterly  ;  and 
it  might,  nay,  it  would,  have  borne  her  on  to 
the  end,  if  incidents,  which  she  had  not  fore- 
seen, and  upon  which  she  had  never  calculated, 
had  not  arisen  and  compelled  her  to  examine 
Be.riouely  into  the  past,  struggle  with  the  pres- 
ent, and  reflect  with  diemay~upon  her  future. 

The  conduct  of  Bertram  during  the  last  few 
years,  his  asseverations  of  unaltered  love,  and 


his  professions  of  perpetual  tenderness  and 
affection  in  the  future,  weakened  her  belief  in 
the  correctness  of  the  assumption  she  had 
originally  formed,  and  prepared  the  way  for  a 
new  impression,  which  rather  urged  "her  to 
imagine  that  it  was  she  who  had  changed,  not 
he.  That,  under,  the  prjesure  of  a  tie,  the 
concealment  of  which  rendered  it  irksome  to 
her,  she  became  unreasonably  exacting,  and 
because  he  did  not  once  respond  to  her  exag- 
gerated claims  upon  his  attachment,  and  his 
already  blind  submission,  he  had,  therefore, 
grown'indifferent  to  her.  That,  in  fact,  it  was 
f  he  who  had  been  wrong  from  the  commence- 
ment, not  he,  and  that  she  alone  was  to  blame 
for  all  that  had  happened. 
^  It  may  easily  be  conceived  with  what  pas- 
sionate regrets  and  self  reproaches  ehe  now 
looked  upon  the  past — how  she  loathed  the 
chain  which  confined  to  the  Marquis— how  she 
longed  to  break  it  asunder,  and,  falling  in 
with  Bertram's  views,  at  laet  determined  to 
throw  off  her  shackles,  and  fly  with  him  to 
some  place  where,  in  calm  and  peaceful  retire- 
ment, they  might  end  their  days  happily  to- 
gether. 

Like  most  guilty  persons,  she  made  mental 
arrangements,  when  preparing  to  quit  the 
scenes  of  her  wrong-doing,  by  which  ehe  ex- 
pected to  pass  the  remainder  of  her  alloted 
term  in  the  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  serene 
happiness, 

But  it  is  God  who  disposes. 

Her  laet  interviews  with  Floret  and  the  Mar- 
quis decided  her  previously  wavering  mind, 
and  she  resolved  to  accept  Bertram's  proposi- 
tion, and  fly  with  him. 

She  saw  that  the  discovery  of  the  huge  im- 
position which  die  had  so  long  kept  up  was 
close  at  hand.  The  Marquis  already  knew 
much  ;  and  the  investigations,  which  Ehe  was 
aware  he  was  pursuing,  would  reveal  to  him 
more.  Floret,  too,  her  counterpart  ia  form 
and  feature,  hovered  and  flitted  about  her  like 
a  spectre,  and  her  origin  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble much  longer  to  conceal.  She  now  dia  • 
trusted  Hagar  Lot ;  and  her  hopes  of  success* 
fully  braving  out  the  storm  which  had  already 
commenced  to  pour  its  destructive  fire  upon 
her,  departed  with  the  physical  strength  which 
the  energy  requisite  to  face  her  difficulties 
would  have  demanded.  She  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  threatening  repect  of  the  circumstance 
which  surrounded  ner.  She  was  aware  that 
actual  proof  rested  solely  on  Fanny  Shelley, 
and  ehe  believed  her  to  be  dead  ;  but  she  had 
not  the  strength  and  firmness  now  to  meet  and 
defy  accusations  and  charges- supported  by 
witnesses  who  could  testify  very  nearly  to  the 
real  truth,  and,  therefore,  she  came  to  the  con- 
clueion  that  she  would  fling  aside  her  coronet 
so  long  falsely  worn,  and  cling  for  the  re- 
mainder of  her  life  to  her  legitimate  husband 
— to  him  whom,  before  the  altar  of  God,  she 
had  sworn  to  love,  to  honor,  find  to  obey,  and 
to  whom  now  only  ehe  proposed  to  keep  sa- 
cred that  vow.  j 

It  waa  with  the  intention,  of  imparliog  to 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


203 


him  her  resolution  that  she  instructed  her 
woman,  Fane,  to  convey  to  him,  through  the 
medium  of  his  groom,  the  intimation  that  she 
should  be  present  at  the  Countess  cf  New- 
market's reception. 

She  knew  that  when  he  received  this  hint  he 
would  not  fail  to  meet  her  there  ;  she  wascon- 
acioua  that  she  waa  incurring  a  great  risk  by 
making  this  assignation  wilh  him ;  but,  then, 
her  situation  was  desperate,  and  desperate  dis- 
eases require  desperate  remedies. 

She,  however,  on  the  other  hand,  assured 
herself  that  the  Marquis  would  not  be  pres- 
ent, and  that  he  would  entertain  no  suspicion 
in  consequence  of  her  recent  illness  that  she 
would  go,  although  she  resolved  to  do  so, 
whether  he  knew  it  or  not — to  brave  and  dare 
anj  thing,  indeed,  in  order  to  carry  out  her 
object. 

Than  she  reasoned,  too,  that  in  such  a  nu- 
merous assemblage  the  mere  circumstance  of 
her  meeting  and  speaking  a  lew  words  to  the 
Earl  of  Brackleigh  would  not  excite  notice. 
She  had  arranged  in  her  own  mind  the  few 
words  that  would  suffice  to  acquaint  him  that 
she  yielded  to  his  suit ;  that  she  was  ready  to 
return  to  her  allegiance  to  him,  and  to  fly  the 
country  at  any  moment.  She  expected  him 
to  .make  all  the  necessary  arrangements.  A 
few  moments'  conversation,  and  she  anticipat- 
ed the  whole  thing  would  be  managed. 

We  have  seen  that  she  was  deceived  in  her 
anticipations,  but  the  was  not  prevented  car- 
rying out  her  design.  She  was  certainly  pet- 
rified with  amazement  to  meet  Floret  in  such 
an  august  assembly — astonished  to  see  her 
dressed  in  a  robe  exactly  like  hfer  own,  and 
glittering  with  diamonds  wbieh,  in  magnifi- 
cence and  value,  far  surpassed  her  own. 

At  the  first  glance,  s-he  regarded  her  only 
as  a  young  and  exquisitely  lovely  gkl  of  high 
birth  just  entering  Hfe ;  and  for  the  moment  a 
feeling  of  pity  passed  through  her  breast  that 
such  a  young  and  radiant  creature  should  ever 
awaken  to  the  knowledge  that  the  paradise  on 
the  threshold  of  which  she  believed  herself  to 
be,  was  but  a  hollow  sham,  a  mockery,  a  de- 
lusion, a  snare. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment,  she  became 
conscious  that  she  was  gazing  upon  the  face — 
into  the  eyes  of  her  own  child— her  unacknowl- 
edged, discarded,  disowned  child.  There,  too, 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  circle  in  which  she 
had  moved  as  a  creature  without  taint. 

She  could  not  permit  herself  to  shrink,  to 
cower,  to  faint,  or  to  utter  the  anathema  which 
rose  to  her  lips.  She  could  only  take  refuge 
in  the  cold  stare  with  which  aristocracy  crush- 
es, or  believes  that  it  can  crush,  whatever  it 
may  please  to  consider  presumption,  and  pass 
on. 

Another  moment,  and  blindness  seemed  to 
have  fallen  npon  her ;  she  tottered  and  sank 
upon  a  eeat ;  she  knew  not  in  what  part  of  the 
room  or  among  what  people  she  had  fallen. 
She  heard  the  buzz  of  voices,  the  shuffling  of 
feet ;  she  felt  the  heat,  and  was  conscious  of 
the  odor  of  exotics.  She  heard  words  ad-  ' 


dressed  to  her,  without  recognizing  their  im- 
port, and  then  she  grew  conscious  that  it  was 
imperative  that  she  should  meke  an  effort* 
and  be  actually  as  calm  and  as  cold  as  she 
then  looked. 

The  first  sense  that  she  was  able  to  control 
was  the  power  of  vision,  and  she  cast  her  eyes 
nervously  about  her. 

Not  far  from  her,  with  pale  face,  but  look- 
ing in  her  eyes  almost  as  ypung,  and  certain- 
ty as  handsome,  if  net  handsomer  than  ever, 
she  saw  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh. 

He  was  leaning  with  an  affectation  of  listless 
indolence  which  seemed  to  be  natural  to  him 
turning  his  ^eyea  slowly  by  turn?  upon  the 
face  of  every  woman  within  their  range,  but 
not  permitting  them  to  rest  for  an  instant  upon 
one. 

The  Marchioness  bent  her  eyes  upon  his, 
and  gazed  intently  upon  him  ;  and,  whether 
there  be  truth  or  not  in  the  assertion  that 
sympathetic  action  takes  place  at  the  power  of 
the  will,  as  electro-biologists  assert,  it  is  at 
least  certain  that  the  Eairl  instantly  turned  bia 
face  round,  and  looked  directly  at  her. 

She  made  a  eign,  and  moved  toward  the 
door  of  a  conservatory  near  to  her ;  he  ob- 
served it,  and  strolled  listlessly,  and  apparent" 
ly  without  motive,  in  the  same  direction. 
They  met ;  a  few  words  cf  salutation  passed  ; 
he  bent  over  the  magnificent  bouquet  which 
she  h«ld  in  her  hand,  and  she  spoke  to  him  a 
few  words  rapidly,  in  a  very  low  tone,  but 
heard  distinctly  by  him.  She  then  apoke  of 
Floret;  bade  him  contrive  to  have  her  ex- 
pelled in  some  humiliating  form,  and  as  she 
coEclnded,  her  eye  caught  sight  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Westchester  glaring  at  her  from  a  dis- 
tance. 

She  saw  the  flash  of  his  vindictive  eye,  and 
an  exclamation  escaped  her  lips,  to  arrest  the 
Earl  of  Brackleigh,  so  that  he  should  not 
move  in  the  direction  in  which  the  Marquis 
was  standing;  but^t  was  uttered  too  late— 
the  Earl  had  moved  away. 

For  a  minute  or  two,  she  gazed  breathless- 
ly at  the  Mar  qui  a  as  the  Esrl  drew  near  to 
him.  Her  vision  seemed  to  be  sharpened ; 
she  saw  with  frightful  distinctness  the  expres- 
sion upon  the  face  of  the  Marquis,  that  it 
meant  insult,  outrage,  murder  to  the  man  ap- 
proaching him. 

By  a  powerful  impulse,  she  was  urged  to 
hurry  forward,  and  step  between  them  ;  but 
she  felt  paralyzed,  bound,  manacled,  tongue 
and  limbs  ;  she  had  neither  voice  nor  power 
to  move  ;  and,  even  if  she  had,  ehe  knew  tha'- 
at  this  moment  she  dared  not. 

She  could  see  there  was  a  commotion.  It 
was  very  slight ;  there  was  no  noise,  no  angry 
gesture,  no  disturbance.  Then  the  Marquis 
suddenly  moved  toward  her. 

She  was  then  released  from  the  spell  which 
had  chained  her  to  the  spot,  and  she  moved 
a  wifely  away. 

Moved  still  like  a  queen,  but  feeling  like  tho 
veriest  wretch  that  ever  crawled  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth. 


294 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


Fortune  befriended  her  in  her  escape.  An 
opening  waa  made  in  the  crowd,  still  pouring 
up  the  staircase,  for  a  lady  who  had  slipped 
and  eprained  her  ankle  severely  while  ascend- 
ing the  stairs.  She  followed  her  closely,  as 
she  was  borne  down,  and  her  carriage  fortu- 
nately happened  to  be  where  it  was  quickly 
enabled  to  draw  up,  on  being  called  ;  and  it 
conveyed  her  rapidly  home. 

Ere  she  reached  her  apartments,  she  was 
met  by  her  woman,  Face,  who  followed  her  to 
her  chamber,  and  as  soon  as  she  closed  the 
doer  behind  her,  she  informed  her  that  the 
Marquis  had  not  long  since  followed  her  to 
the  Countess  of  Newmarket's. 

The  Marchioness  replied  in  a  sharp,  short, 
tone,  that  she  was  acquainted  with  the  fact. 

"  Do  you  also  know,  my  lady,"  added  Fane, 
meekly,  "  that  Captaia  Parrot,  of  the  Syd- 
ney Mounted  Rifles,  is  in  my  Lord's  study?" 

The  Marchioness  turned  quickly  to  her,  and 
ejaculated  with  surprise  :  "  Where  ?" 

Fane  repeated  her  words,  and  continuing, 
said: 

"  My  Lord  sent  for  me  immediately  after 
your  ladyship  had  departed  ;  and  while  he  was 
trying  to  worm  out  of  me  anything  about 
your  ladyship  which  he  considered  that  he 
ought  to  knew — " 

"Pitiful!  contemptible!"  ejaculated  the 
Marchioness,  scornfully. 

"  One  of  the  men-servants  announced  Cap- 
tain Parrott,"  pursued  Fane.  "  I  would  not 
leave  the  room,  although  my  Lord  seemed 
much  disturbed  by  his  arrival,  until  I  had  a 
good  look  at  him,  so  that  I  should  know  him 
again  ;  and  I  expect  I  shall  very  soon  know 
where  to  find  him  if  he  should  be  want- 
ed." 

"  Is  he  locked  in  the  apartment-?"  inquired 
the  Marchioness. 

*•  Jtfo,  my  lady ;  but  my  Lord's  valet  is  watch- 
ing, the  door,"  returned  Fane. 

The  Marchioness  mused  for  a  minute. 

Fane  watched  her  features  anxiously,  and 
then  added : 

"1  know  how  to  draw  the  yalet  away  from 
the  door  for  a  few  minutes,  if  your  ladyship 
should  wish  to  question  Captain  Parrot  a  lit 
tie  without  anybody  knowing  it  ?" 

*'I  do,  Fane,"  returned  the  Marchioness, 
quickly. 

"  If  your  ladyship  will  proceed  to  the  study, 
in  three  cr  four  minutes  from  this  you  will 
find  no  one  near  the  approach  to  it,'"  she  re- 
joined. 

The  Marchioness  bent  her  head,  and  the 
girl  glided  away. 

The  Marchioness  unlocked  a  drawer,  and 
took  from  thence  a  well- filled  purse,  and  pro- 
ceeded slowly  to  the  study  of  the  Marquis. 

Fane  had  kept  her  word ;  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  Marquis's  valet  on  her  way  to  the  room 
in  which  Captain  Parrot  was  seated. 

She  opened  the  door  noiselessly,  and  closed 
it  behind  her.  She  passed  a  small  bolt  which 
was  under  the  lock  into  tbe  catch,  and  then 
£he  turned  her  eyes  upon  Captain  Parrot. 


He  was  seated  with  his  back  toward  her  bj 
a  table,  with  his  feet  upon  a  chair  ;  a  yellojf 
silk  handkerchief  was  laid  carefully  across  his 
knees  ;  at  his  elbow  was  a  decanter,  with  a 
small  quantity  of  port  wine  in  it,  and  in  his 
hand  was  a  glass  filled  with  the  "generous 
liquid",  which  he  was  holding  up  between  the 
lamp  and  one  eye,  the  other  being  carefully 
closed.  lie  was  examining  the  light,  fleecy 
wing  which  was  floating  in  the  wine  in  very 
commendable  quantity. 

"  I  am  happy  to  inform  you!"  exclaimed 
the  Captain,  addressing  vacancy,  not  having 
heard  the  Marchioness  enter,  and  being  quite 
unconscious  that  he  had  an  auditor,  "  that 
the  wine  continues  of  the  same  excellence  &a 
per  last,  and  now,  gentlemen,  what  shall  we 
say  ?  What  shall  we  say  with  this  good  wine, 
bubbling,  foaming,  glistening,  sparkling,  at 
our  lips,  inviting  us  to  swallow  the  pearl 
necklace  which  floats  upon  its  edge  so  tempt- 
ingly ?  Well,  since  you  leave  it  to  me,  I  will 
give  you,  for  the  sixth  time— I  like  to  be 
grateful— remember,  gentlemen,  this  is  ft 
bumper  toast,  and  that,  when  the  wine  is  out, 
we  can  ring  for  more— a — whether  we  get  it 
or  not.  I  say,  gentlemen,  I  will  give  you,  for 
the  sixth  time,  the  immortal  adoration  of  that 
pretty  little  creature,  who  smiled  so  bewitch- 
ingly  upon  me  as  I  entered  this  chamber. 
Bumpers,  gentlemen :  May  we  hold  in  our 
arms  those  we  love  in  our  hearts.  Aha  I  No 
heeltaps,  you  will  please  to  observe,"  he 
added,  as  he  emptied  his  glass,  and  then  turned 
it  with  its  foot  uppermost  He  refilled  it. 

"  What  should  I  have  done,"  he  continued, 
soliloquizing ;  "  what  should  I  have  done, 
gentlemen,  in  this  dnil  room,  but  for  your 
pleasant  company,  some  of  this  magnificent 
old  port,  and  the  memory  of  that  fascinating 
little  witch  who  greeted  me,  on  my  arrival 
here,  with  the  smiling  aspect  of  a  beneficent 
fairy?  Would  that  she  were  here  now,  and 
were  to  steal  gently  mp  to  me,  and  whisper  in 
my  ear: 

"  You  are  Captain  Parrot,  of  the  Sydney 
Mounted  Rifles !"  exclaimed  the  Marchioness, 
in  her  silvery  voice,  but  in  her  sternest  and 
haughtiest  tones. 

Tiie  Captain  turned  his  head  sharply,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

Before  him  stood  a  beautiful  and  command- 
ing woman,  exquisitely  dressed,  and  glittering 
with  diamonds. 

He  had  no  doubt  who  it  was  who  stood  be- 
fore him  ;  but  he  had  a  strong  miegiving  re- 
specting her  object  in  seeking  him. 

He  gave  a  sickly  smile,  bowed  low,  and 
asked,  instead  of  replying  : 

"Pardon  me,  Madam;  whom  have  I  the 
honor  of  addressing  ?" 

"  For  tae  time  being,  I  am  the  Marchioness 
of  Westchester,"  she  replied,  in  the  same 
haughty  tote ;  ;<  bet  let  me,  at  the  outset, 
suggest  to  you  that  I  came  here  to  question, 
not  to  be  questioned.  You  will,  therefore,  be 
BO  good  as  to  reply  to  the  question  that  I  have 
put  to  you." 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


205 


"I  am  Captain  Parrot,  my  lady,"  he  re- 
plied, in  a  somewhat  meek  tone. 

"  It  is  not  your  real  name,"  ehe  rejoined  ; 
"  let  me  know  what  that  is." 

He  looked  at  her  with  surprise,  and  remained 
silent. 

She  frowned  at  him,  and  added,  sternly  : 

"  I  have  not  time  for  paltering  or  evasion. 
Tonr  object  in  coming  here  is,  to  obtain  money 
—  the  means  by  which  you  design-  to  extort  it 
is,  the  possession  of  a  secret.  "This  purse  is 
fall  of  gold;  if  yon  can  answer  the  few  ques- 
tions, honestly  and  truthfully,  which  I  shall 
put  to  you,  it  is  yours  ;  if  you  refuse,  it  will 
be  withdrawn,  and  a  mode  adopted  to  compel 
you  to  speak,  which  will  be  quite  effectual, 
but  less  gratifying  to  you  in  its  result.  What 
is  your  real  name  ?" 

The  pseudo  captain  still  hesitated  ;  he  gazed 
at  her  with  a  furtive  but  searching  look  of 
inquiry.  There  was  an  air  of  desperate  deter- 
mination upon  her  face,  of  which  he  did  not 
approve  ;  but  he  asked  himself,  if  he  yielded 
to  her  pressure,  what  would  the  Marquis  say 
and  do  ?  Where  would  be  the  value  of  the 
secret  upon  which  he  set  such  a  price  ?  He 
felt  himself  to  be  in  an  awkward  predicament. 

The  Marchioness  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
bell. 

"Will  you  answer  me?"  she  said,  with  a 
haughty  frown.  "  What  is  your  real  name  ?" 

"Matthew  Warlock,"  he  replied,  quickly, 
fastening  his  eyes  obliquely  upon  the  puree. 

"  You  were  a  corporal  in  the  Second  Regi- 
ment of  Life  Guards  when  the  Marquis  of 
Westchester  was  one  of  its  captains?"  she 
pursued. 

He  bowed. 

"And  was  his  regimental  servant?"  she 
added. 

He  bowed. 

"And  jackal!"  she  said,  with  scornful,  sar- 
castic bitterness. 
.   He  raised  his  head  and  one  hand,  deprecat- 


"  You  were  such,  and  by  your  own  confes- 
sion !"  she  exclaimed,  emphatically.  "  I  have 
pei-used  your  recent  letter  to  the  Marquis." 

The  Captain  waxed  white.  His  back  opened 
and  ehut. 

"  The  contents  of  that  letter  are  true,"  she 
subjoined. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  What  was  he 
to  say  to  secura  e\en  a  fraction  of  reward  ? 

"You  cannot  deny  it."  she  continued,.  as 
Bhe  saw  he  was  casting  about  for  an  answer 
"  Your  letter  was  a  private  communication  to 
your  former  master.  You  declared  yourself 
to  have  been,  at  one  time,  the  person  in  whom 
he  reposed  his  secret  confidence.  You  would 
not,  in  order  to  bring  him  to  your  terms, 
write  to  him  privately  a  tissue  of  lies,  which  he 
could  not  fail  to  know  would  be  such.  I  may, 
therefore,  justly  conclude  that,  in  your  com- 
munication to  the  Marquis,  you  have  stated 
nothing  short  of  the  truth.  Ney,  tell  me  the 
date  of  the  marriage  between  Captain  Wolver- 
ton  and  Ada  Vian." 


Captain  Parrot  appeared  perfectly  bewil- 
dered and  confounded  ;  but  the  Marchioness 
repeated  her  questions  sharply,  and  he  an- 
swered, with  embarrassment : 

"  I — I — must  consult  my  pocket-book." 

"  Consult  it,"  she  said,  briefly,  but  sternly. 

He  pulled  out,  from  an  inner  pocket  in  hie 
military  frock-coat,  a  well-worn  pocket-feeok, 
and,  opening  it,  fumbled  over  its  contents. 

"Quick!"  she  ejaculated,  emphatically. 
"  Time  is  precious  to  me." 

"  It  was  upon  the  10th  of  February,  1831," 
he  answered,  hastily. 

"  Where  di&the  ceremony  take  place  ?" 

"  Prince's-court  Chapel,  Pall  Mall." 

"  The  clergyman's  name  ?" 

"  The  Rev.  E.  K.  Meanwell." 

"  Where  is  he  to  be  found  now?"' 

"  He  is  the  Rector  of  Allhallows,  Barking." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  brother?" 

"Walter  Warlock." 

"His  address? 

"Ahem!" 

"  No  hesitation  now,  man.  You  have  pro- 
ceeded too  far;  you  cannot  halt.  His  ad- 
dress?" 

"Ho.  7  Brick  court,  Temple." 

"  The  name  of  the  friends  of  Ada  Vian, 
who  is  the  rightful  Marchioness  of  West- 
Chester?" 

"Lady  Susan  Vaughan,  No.  123  Eaton 
square." 

"  There  is  a  child,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lady—  a  girl." 

"Where  was  she  placed  ?" 

"  In  Yorkshire." 

"What  part?" 

"  Ugglebarnby  House,  Ugglebarnby,  York- 
shire." 

"  Where  ?"  almost  screamed  the  Marchion- 
ess, with  sudden  surprise. 

Warlock  repeated  the  address. 

The  Marchioness  turned  away  and  paced 
the  room. 

It  was  the  same  address  as  that  to  which 
Hagar  Lot  had  conveyed  Floret. 

They  must  have  met,  and  have  been  partly 
brought  up  together.  She  bent  her  head.  It 
was  surely  the  hand  of  Heavea  working  out 
its  own  solution  of  the  strange  drama  she  had 
woven,  the  denouement  of  which  she  had  striv- 
en, and  and  was  now  striving  to  control. 

Captain  Parrot,  who  watched  her  cloeely. 
w»s  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  what  had  occa- 
sioned this  sudden  emotion,  and  attributed  it 
rather  to  the  signs  of  a  disbelief  in  what  he 
had  stated.  He,  therefore,  not  only  again  re- 
peated the  address,  but  the  names  of  the  sis- 
ters Blixenfiaik. 

The  Marchioness  waved  her  hand  impatient- 
ly, and  added : 

"  Where  is  that  girl  now  ?" 

"  There,  for  atight  I  know,  my  lady,"  he 
replied.  "  The  fact  can  soon  be  ascertained." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  then  said : 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  me.  It 
is  sufficient  for  me  that  I  am  acquainted  with 
the  circumstance  that  there  waa  isene  to  the 


20G 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


marriage  to  which  we  have  been  referring,  and 
that  it  is  to  be  produced,  if  reqnired." 

"  Certainly,  my  lady,"  responded  Captain 
Parrot. 

The  Marchioness  had  made  notes  of  the  in- 
formation which  the  Captain  had  communi- 
cated to  her,  and  she  went  once  more  over  each 
item,  the  correctness  of  which  he  vouched. 
She  then  said : 

"  I  have  no.  more  questions  to  put  to  you. 
There  is  the  purse ;  yon  can  inform  the  Mar- 
quis upon  his  return  of  this  interview  or  not, 
as  you  may  consider  most  conducive  to  your 
interests.  I  shall  not  volunteer  the  statement 
that  I  received  this  communication  through 
you.  I  wiH  merely  remark,  fool,  that  the 
greatest  reward  you  can  hope  to  expect  will 
be  paid  to  yon  by  the  friends  of  the  woman 
•who  has  been  deserted,  when,  by  your  aid,  she 
ia'  restored  to  her  position  as  Marchioness  of 
"Westehester." 

She  tossed  him  the  purse  as  she  concluded, 
and,  with  her  usual  haughty  mien,  departed 
from  the  room  without  noticing  the  low  bow 
which  he  made  to  her. 

.  He  followed  her  to  the  door,  and  after  she 
disappeared,  opened  it  gently,  for  she  had 
closed  it  behind  her,  looked  into  the  room  be- 
yond, but  without  seeing  any  one.  He  reclos- 
ed  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  table  and 
opened  the  purse,  so  that  the  light  of  the 
lamp  feH  full  upon  its  contents— there  were 
sovereigns  and  notes  crammed  together,  and 
his  heart  leaped  at  the  sight. 

fie  closed  the  purse  and  placed  it  in  the 
very  lowest  depths  of  his  breast-pocket,  and 
then  he  filled  up  his  glass  with  one  more  bump- 
er of  port. 

He  glanced  round  the  room,  to  assure  him- 
self that  he  was  alone,  and  being  certain  that 
no  one  was  near  to  listen  to  him,  he  exclaim- 
ed, with  seeming  self-possession,  although  he 
was  still  in  a  perspiration  from  fright  and 
Bonder  at  the  unexpected  visit  of  the  Mar- 
chioness : 

*•  You  will  permit  me  to  observe,  gentle- 
men, that  I  think  this  world,  taken  as  a  whole, 
a  very  good  world.  It  bas  its  dark  sides,  but 
it  has  its  bright  sides.  Have  we  not  here  a 
healthy  example?''  he  slapped  the  spot  where 
the  purse  reposed  as  he  spoke  ;  "  I  drink  its 
health.  I  drink  the  health  of  the  woman  who 
has  left  me.  I  drink  to  the  health  of  She  sug- 
gestion she  has  given  me.  I  drink  to  the 
health  of  the  Lauy  Susan  Vaughan,  who  is 
about  to  bestow  upon  me  a  fortune.  I  drink 
to  the  health  of  the  Marquis  of  Westchester, 
who  is  about  to  lose  a  wife,  for  which  he  ought 
and  will  pay  me.  I  drink  to  the  health  of  the 
the  wjfe,  who  will,  through  me  soon  sit  here 
in  regal  state,  for  which  the  Marquis  will  not 
pay  me,  but  she  will.  I  drink  to  the  health  of 
myself,  SB  a  devilish  cunning  fellow ;  and  I 
driiuk  the  health  of  you,  gentlemen,  all  round, 
no  exceptions — and  no  heeltaps — hah  :" 

He  attacked  his  lips  as  he  concluded,  and 
then  put  down  the  glass  with  a  sudden  dash, 
for  the  door  at  that  moment  was  flung  wide 


open,  and  the  Marquis  entered,  looking  even 
whiter  and  sterner  than  when  he  departed. 

He  glanced  fiercely  round  the  apartment. 

"  Where  is  my  valet  ?"  he  said  sharply. 

"  I  do  not  knew,  my  Lord,"  returned  Cap- 
taia  Parrot.  "  He  brought  to  me  a  decanter 
with  a  little  wine  in  it,  and  went  away  without 
speaking  a  word.  I  have  not  seen  him  since." 

"  I  ordered  him  not  to  leave  the  adjoining 
apartment,"  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  with  a 
vexed  air. 

u  I've  not  been  out  of  this  room,"  suggested 
Captain  Parrot. 

The  Marquis  mused  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  then  said  to  his  visitor  : 

"  You  must  leave  me,  "Warlock,  and  take  an- 
other opportunity  of  seeing  me  ;  it  is  wholly 
impossible  for  me  to  pay  any  attention  to  yon 
now." 

"  But,  my  Lord,  mine  is  not  a  common  busi- 
ness, permit  me  to  remind  you,"  urged  the 
Captain. 

"  I  say  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  quick- 
ly. "  You  came  here  to  extort  money — yon 
seek  to  make  me  bribe  you  to  keep  my  secret* 
There  is  nothing  uncommon  in  that ;  but  I  am 
in  that  position  that,  at  this  moment,  I  care 
not  whether  you  keep  the  reveal  it.  It  is 
infinitely  of  more  importance  to  me  that  you 
should  go  now." 

He  went  to  a  drawer  and  took  from  it  a 
small  note- case.  It  contained  a  number  of 
bank-notes,  and  he  selected  one,  which  he  hand- 
ed to  the  Captain,  and  said  : 

"  Take  that ;  it  will  more  than  suffice  for 
your  present  wants.  Return  to  me  in  a  few 
days.  I  shall  then  be  in  a  condition  to  listen 
to  you,  or  be  beyond  the  necessity  of  listening 
to  you  or  your  secret.  Go !" 

The  Captain  saw  that  the  corner  of  the  note 
had  a  black  device,  in  which  were  several 
white  letters,  and  he  felt  for  the  moment  satis- 
fied. He  accepted  it  with  a  gracious  air,* 
folded  it  up,  and  placed  it  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  ^ 

The  Marquis  rang  his  bell  sharply,  and  MB 
valet  promptly  appeared. 

"  Show  this  person  out,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"Good  night,  my  Lord,1'  exclaimed  the 
Captain.  The  Marquis  bowed  stiffly,  and  the 
Captain  and  the  valet  disappeared. 

"  I  must  see  her,"  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 
Marquis,  as  the  door  of  the  room  closed.  "  I 
must  see  her.  I  will.  I  must  come  to  some 
decided,  positive,  and  determinate  arrange- 
ment with  her.  She  shall  not  foil,  elude,  es- 
cape me.  She  must  be  mine  under  any  name. 
"Wife,  mistress,  slave — she  shall  be  mine.  I 
cannot  endure  this  torture;  damnation  can 
have  no  pangs  to  equal  the  agonies  which  con- 
vulse me.  She  shall  never  be  his.  Ifo — no ! 
I'll  *lay  him.  He  shall  never  leave  the  point 
of  my  weapon  with  life  even  fluttering  in  his 
heart.  O  woman,  woman,  what  will  yon 
have  to  answer  for  if  you  repulse  me  as  you 
have  hitherto  done  ?" 

He  took  from  a  cabinet  a  key,  and  then  pas- 
sing through  a  euite  of  rooms  he  paused  be- 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


207 


fore  a  door,  unlocked  it  swiftly,  and  entered 
the  room  to  which  it  gave  ingress. 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

"  See  kow  all  around  them  wait 
The  ministers  of  human  fate, 
And  black  Misfortune's  train  I"      —  GRAY. 

The  Marquis,  without  intending  to  to  do  so, 
had  opened  the  door  without  noise  ;  the  locks 
were  in  such  perfect  order,  and  the  hinges  so 
well  oiled,  that  each  performed  its  part  with- 
out giving  forth  a  sound- 
He  flaw  that  the  Marchioness  had  evidently 
just  finished  changing"  her  evening  dress — not, 
as  he  expected,  for  a  wrapper,  but  for  a  walk- 
ing dress. 

The  room  appeared  to  be  in  confusion. 

Fane  was  occupied,  under  the  directions  of 
the  Marchioness,  in  clearing  some  cabinets  of 
various  articles,  souvenirs  and  treasures  of  re- 
membrance, bijouterie,  and  other  such  things  ; 
and  an  assistant  maid  was  busily  engaged  in 
packing  them  in  some  traveling- cases.  Dress- 
es were  strewn  upon  the  floor,  and  there  were 
portmanteaus  and  traveling- bags,  dressing- 
cases,  and  other  evidences  of  departure,  in 
various  spots,  ready  to  be  filled. 

The  Marquis  gazed  at  these  signs  of  prepa- 
ration aghast. 

For  the  moment  he  was  deprived  of  the 
power  of  speech,  but  recovering  himself,  he 
advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  and,  ad- 
dressing the  Marchioness,  exclaimed : 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  prepara- 
tion ?" 

The  Marchioness  turned  round  hastily,  and 
started  when  she  beheld  him.  She,  however, 
drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  regarded 
him  with  a  cold  frown,  and  said  : 

•'  My  Lord  Marquis  of  Westchester,  this  is 
my  private  chamber.  How  dare  you  insult 
me  by  intruding  here  ?" 

"  Lady  Westchester — madam — woman,"  he 
cried,  passionately ;  "  you  are  my  wife,  and 
no  place  in  which  you  may  be  can  be  sacred 
from  me." 

"  Lord  Weetchester,  I  am  not  your  wife," 
she  returned,  in  the  same  tone.  "  Your  un- 
wished-for  intrusion  here  is,  therefore,  an  in- 
sult to  me." 

He  started  as  her  words,  spoken  emphati- 
cally, caught  his  ear  ;  and  he  turned  hastily  to 
the  two  young  women,  who,  both  having 
caught  her  remark,4ooked  upon  her  with  sur- 
prise, and  said : 

"  Leave  the  room." 

"  I  bid  you  stay,"  responded  the  Marchion- 
ess. "  You  are  my  servants,  and  under  my 
control.  I  forbid  your  departure,  but  com- 
mand you  to  proceed  with  the  tasks  which  I 
have  set  you,  and  complete  them." 

She  turned  to  the  Marquis,  and  said  : 

*'  I  am  not  Lady  Westchester.  I  never  have 
been  :  you  know  it — I  know  it.  I  again  re- 
peat that  you  have  no  right  in  this  chamber, 
and  I  will  not  permit  you  to  remain  within  it 
for  an  instant.  If  yo*  desire  that  I  should 
listen  to  any  remarks  you  may  be  anxious  to 


make  to  me,  they  muet  be  spoken  in  some 
other  part  of  the  building — not  here.  Retire, 
I  will  attend  you." 

With  such  a  commencement  as  this,  the 
Marquis  knew  not  what  course  to  pursue.  He 
saw  that  she  was  resolute,  and  would  not  pause 
in  creating  a  scene  if  he  sought  to  enforce  hia 
command  to  Fane  and  her  companion  to  Isave 
the  apartment.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  thought 
it  would  be  better  that  the  struggle  for  su- 
premacy, which  he  knew  must  take  place  be- 
tween them,  should  be  gone  through  ia  his 
study;  he,  therefore,assuming  an  air  of  haughty 
superiority  and  self- command,  which  he  in- 
tended should  serve  as  a  reflection  upon  her 
conduct  to  him,  said  : 

"  You  speak,  Madam,  like  one  laboring  un- 
der a  derangement  of  the  intellect.  K  you 
will  forget  what  is  due  to  your  own  dignity,  it 
becomes  necessary  that  I,  at  least,  should  re- 
member it.  You  will,  therefore,  please  to  ac- 
company me  to  my  study,  and  there,  at  least,, 
I  shall  be  certain  of  being  secure  from  audi- 
tors, whose  presence,  under  any  circumstances 
but  those  in  which  their  services  become  & 
necessity,  is  an  impertinence." 

He  stalked  away  as  he  spoke,  and  passe  J 
through  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered. 

He  turned  once  to  see  whether  the  Mar- 
chioness was  following  him.  She  waved  her 
hand  with  an  imperious  but  patient  gusture,. 
and  he  went  on. 

The  Marchioness  said  to  Fane  : 

"  Proceed  with  your  task ;  fulfill  my  instruc- 
tions to  the  letter.  I  shall  not  sleep  beneath 
this  roof  to-night." 

As  she  concluded,  she  followed  the  Marquis 
to  his  study. 

As  she  passed  through  the  darkened  room, 
a  tall  figure  rose  up  from  the  deep  shadow  of 
a  recess,  and  glided  after  her. 

The  Marchioness  entered  the  study,  and 
saw  the  Marquis  plated  by  a  table,  upon 
which  hia  head  was  laid,  shielded  by  his  arms. 

She  stood  and  contemplated  him  for  a 
minute  without  speaking,  and  during  her 
steadfast  gaze  he  did  not  raise  his  head. 

But  the  shadowy  figure,  which  had  flitted 
with  soundless  steps  at  her  heels,  moved, 
swiftly  and  silently,  through  a  massive  velvet 
curtain  which  had  been  dTawn  across  the  win- 
dow. 

At  length  the  Marchioness,  apparently  un- 
moved by  the  emotion  which  the  Marquis, 
without  doubt,  unaffectedly  displayed,  said,  in 
a  cold  but  distant  tone  . 

"I  am  here.  What  have  you  to  aay  to 
me?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  as  though  she  had 
discharged  a  pistol  in  hia  ear. 

He  had  expected  her,  but  not,  perhaps,  BO 
soon. 

Hot  tears  were  glistening  upon  his  cheeks, 
but  he  dashed  them  violently  away.  It  was  a 
minute  or  so  before  he  could  speak  in  anything 
like  a  firm  tone.  Then  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Madam,  since  we  stood  at  the  altar  to- 


208 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


gether,  at  DO  lengthened  period  after  I  first 
saw  you,  we  have  never  been  in  that  relation 
to  each  other  in  which  a  clear  and  frank  un- 
derstanding would  have  placed  UK." 

"We  have  not !"  she  rejoined,  with  a  pecu- 
liar ere  phaeis. 

"  I  wish  to  come  to  that  understanding  1"  he 
said,  pointedly  : 

"  And  I !;'  she  answered,  firmly. 

"  It  is  some  relief  to  my  heavy  heart  to 
hear  you  express  thia  much  1"  he  rejoined, 
quickly. 

•«  And  to  your  conscience  I"  she  added,  sar- 
castically. 

"  We  are  taught  to  believe  that  confession 
goes  far  to  absolve  us  from  our  Bins." 

"  Spare  your  sarcasms  for  the  proper  mo- 
ment; you  may  need  my  forbearance!"  he 
rejoined. 

'"  As  you  will  mine  !"  she  retorted,  prompt- 
ly. 

He  regarded  her  with  an  inquiring  look ; 
but  her  face  was  as  rigid  as  marble,  and  as 


When  we  were  married,"  he  commenced, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

" Stay!"  she  interrupted,  abruptly.  "  With 
our  past  we  are  both  acquainted— a  weary, 
weary  past  it  has  been  to  me.  It  will  be  waste 
of  time  to  refer  to  it :  let  it  be  a  matter  of 
memory — hateful  memory  it  must  be  to  both  ; 
but  do  not  let  us  discuss  it.  It  is  unnecessary 
as  a  means  of  bringing  us  to  the  understand- 
ing of  which  yon  have  spoken.  The  events 
of  to-night — that  especially  which  took  place 
at  the  Countess'of  Newmarket's — will  bring  us 
to  the  point  at  once.  Speak  of  that  ?" 

He  started  back,  and  glared  at  her  with  a 
look  of  indignant  astonishment.  She  stood 
&B  cold,  as  calm,  as  immovable  as  before. 

A  flush  of  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  brow  ;  he 
Ret  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  hands  together. 

"  You  are  right,  Madam !"  ho  said,  trying  to 
articulate  his  words  clearly.  "  You  frequently 
have  made  a  boast  that  you  have  sustained 
beyond  the  possibility  of  impeachment  the 
name  of  Westchester." 

"  I  have  done  so !"  she  replied,  firmly. 

"  But  you  have  menaced  me  with  inteiations 
on  your  part  to  stain  it  with  the  foulest  ini- 
quity 1"  he  rejoined,  sternly. 

"  I  did  it  for  a  purpose !"  she  returned, 
gloomily  ;  "  for  willfulness,  to  relieve  my'brain 
of  the  pressure  which  your  unworthy  suspi- 
cions heaped  upon  it." 

"  But  I  saw  you  to-night  at'the  reception  of 
that  infernal  horse-racing  woman,  speaking  in 
earnest  tones,  but  with  the  familiarity  which — 
which — which — one  servant  would  adopt  in 
addressing  another,  to  that  object  of  my  de- 
testation, my  abhorrence,  my  fiercest  hate, 
Lord  Brackleigh !" 

"  You  did,  my  Lord  Marquis  of  Westchester, 
perceive  me  in  conversation  with  the  Earl  of 
Brackleigh,  but  not  with  the  low  familarity 
whick  your  vulgar  conception  attributed  to  it, 
but  with  the  earnestness  and  friendly  commu- 
nion which  should  subsist  betwen  husband  and 


wife,"  she  replied,  calmly  and  slowly,  laying 
a  marked  emphasis  upon  the  last  three  words. 

He  staggered  back  in  bewildered  amaze- 
ment. 

l<  I — I— do  not  understand  you,  woman,"  he 
gasped,  faintly. 

"  You  shrill,"  she  returned,  coldly.  "  You 
appear  to  object  to  my  conversing  with  the 
Earl  of  Brackleigh." 

"  With  my  whole  heart,  eoul,  will,  being,  1 
do,"  he  crie3,  m  frenzied  tones. 

She  laughed  shrilly,  painfully,  horribly. 

"  I  am  his  wife,"  she  said,  in  ringing  tones. 

A  wild  cry  burst  from-  his  lips  ;  he  groaned, 
he  gasped  for  breath. 

"Wretch,  you  have  foully  dishonoured 
me!"  he  ejaculated,  hoansely. 

She  bent  her  finger  wainingly  at  him. 

"  Beware,"  she  cried,  sternly  and  indignant* 
ly,  "  how  you  attempt  to  breathe  one  word 
derogatory  to  my  chastity,  even  in  my  ears. 
For  fifteen  years  I  have  lived  with  the  incubus 
of  your  name  upon  me  and  beneath  your 
roof.  You  have  never  dared  to  lay  a  finger 
upon  me,  ev<n  in  pleasantry.  At  the  altar  I 
swore  to  be  true  to  my  husband ;  I  have  been, 
as  Heaven  is  and  will  be  my  judge  !" 

"  I — I — am  yeur  husband,"  he  cried,  almost 
inarticulately  ,"he  was  BO  convulsed  with  emo- 
tion. 

"  No,"  she  rejoined,  with  vehemence :  "  nor 
have  you  ever  been  other  than  the  emptiest 
mockery  of  that  name.  Listen.  When  Cap- 
tain Wolverton  you  married  Ada  Vian — " 

"  It  ia  false,"  he  shouted ;  "  it  is  a  false 
fabrication — a  lie." 

"Of  whose?"  she  retorted,  quickly;  of 
yours,  or  of  Matthew  Warlock,  who  was  your 
regimental  eervant  when  you  were  an  officer 
in  the  Second  Life  Guards  ?" 

He  panted  for  breath. 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me,"  she  said,  eignifi- 
cantly,  "for,  after  I  have  alluded  to  your 
early  life  before  we  met,  I  have  a  revelation 
to  make  respecting  my  own." 

He  tottered  to  the  table,  ^  and  leaned  his 
hands  upon  it  to  support  himself.  He  bent 
his  eyes  upon  her  with  an  expresfiion  which 
made  her  flesh  creep,  but  ehe  did  not  betray 
the  slightest  sign  that  she  was  affected  by  it. 

"  You,"  she  continued,  "  were  married  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Meanwell,  at  Prince's  Court 
Chapel,  Pall  Mall,  upon  the  lOfch  of  February, 
in  the  presence  of  Matthew  and  Walter  War- 
lock, brothers.  Was  it  not  BO  ?" 

She  paused ;  but  though  he  glared  at  her 
with  the  same  horrible  expression,  he  did  not 
answer. 

"  I  know  that  it  was  eo,  and  that  after  your 
marriage,  a  girl  was  born,"  she  resumed. 
"  You  caused  your  wife  to  be  placed  in  a  luna- 
tic asylum,  your  child  at  a  school  in  York- 
shire ;  and  you  subsequently  honored  me  with 
the  offer  of  your  foully-stained  hand  and  your 
tarnished  coronet.  You  offered  both  to  ms,  in 
the  belief  that  being  as  young,  I  wca  as  pure 
and  as  innocent  as  the  poor  creature  whom 
you  had  married  and  separated  from  under 


OB,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


209 


circumstances  of  the  most  brutal  iniquity. 
You  were  deceived.  I  was  then  both  a  wife 
and  a  mother !" 

A  hoarse  screech  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 
Marquis.  He  tried  to  raise  himself  to  his  full 
height,  as  though  he  would  spring  at  and 
etrangle  her;  bnt  hie  limbs  appeared  to  be 
paralyzed,  and  although  he  tried  to  advance 
toward  her,  he  only  tottered  a  few  steps,  and 
then  clung  to  a  bookcase  for  support. 

The  Marchioness  stood  immovable.  She 
gazed  upon  him  steadfastly  and  firmly,  and 
not  for  an  instant  did  she  exhibit  the  slightest 
eign  of  giving  ground  when  he  approached 
her  with  so  demoniacal  an  expression  upon 
his  face. 

As  soon  as  she  perceived  that  he  advanced 
no  nearer  to  her,  but  clung  to  the  bookcase, 
swaying  elightly  to  and  fro  like  a  drunken 
man,  she  proceeded  with  her  revelation. 

"  You,  Lord  Westchester,  were  married 
upon  the  10th  of  February,  1831 ;  I  was  mar- 
ried at  Brighton,  on  the  6&h  of  December, 
1832.  Your  child  was  born  in  the  November 
of  that  year  ;  mine  in  the  September  follow- 
ing. You  will  therefore  perceive  that  you  at- 
tempted to  cheat  me,  and  that  I  have  success- 
fully deceived  you.  I  have  already  told  you 
that  I  knew  your  object  in  selecting  me  as  your 
marchioness,  and  I  have  acquainted  yon  with 
mine  in  accepting  you  before  the  world  as  my 
husband.  You  desired  to  possees  a  woman 
whose  form  and  face,  allied  to  distinguished 
birth,  might  make  you  the  envy  of  your 
peers.  You  obtained — a  statue.  I  took  you 
on  the  pretence  of  an  ambition  for  a  coronet, 
but  for  the  purposes  of  revenge — a  revenge 
which  has  recoiled  upon  myeelf,  inasmuch 
that  I  have  suffered  loug  and  deeply  in  conse- 
quence of  my  own  mad  folly.  It  is  quite  need- 
less for  me  to  enter  upon  the  particulars  of 
my  clandestine  marriage,  why  I  parted — the 
separation  was  by  mutual  consent — from  my 
husband,  why  I  discarded  my  child.  They 
are  matters  which  do  not,  cannot  interest  you, 
nor  affect  you  as  they  do  me.  Let  this  suffice. 
The  ceremony  which  has  passed  between  us, 
and  which,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  made  me 
your  wife,  does  not,  for  my  share  in  it,  render 
me  amenable  to  the  law ;  at  least,  at  your 
charge.  You  are  equally  free  from  any  danger 
of  a  similar  kind  at  my  hands.  You  have  but 
to  look  upon  the  p^it  aa  I  shall— as  one  of 
humiliating  and  bitter  memory — and  to  place 
in  your  household  ehe  who  is  legitimately  en- 
titled to  preside  here  as  its  mistress.  That  is 
the  smallest  justice  you  can  render  for  the  em 
of  which  you  have  been  guilty.  For  myeelf, 
my  journey  with  you  through  life  ends  with 
]  this  'clear  and  frank  understanding'.  To-night, 
1 1  became  acquainted  with  the  full  particulars 
of  your  former  marriage — to-night,  I  quit  vour 
roof,  and  forever.  I  have  only  to  add  that  as 
I,  when  I  pass  into  the  fresh  air  from  the  heat 
ed  atmosphere  of  this  abode,  shall  forge 
you,  I  hope  that  the  memory  of  me  in  your 
mind  will  die  with  my  departure  from  you." 
She  was  about  to  turn  and  quit  the  room 


ut  he  motioned  her  to  stop.  She  did  BO,  and 
with  a  desperate  struggle  he  forced  out  a  few 
words. 

"It  .is  but  just,"  he  gasped,  "that  yon 
h«ild  listen  to  me,  after  the  patient  hearing 
htttl  have  given  to  you.  I  confess  that  I  am 
>veywhe)nied  by  your  communication,  thaA  I 
find  it  difficult  not  only  to  spo*&  but  to  think 
with  coherency." 

H«  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  ft 
renewed  effort,  which  was  more  successful  than 
he  las*,  he  resumed :  j 

"I  own  I  am  taken  by  surprise  ;  but  after' 
ihe  first  horror  has  in  some  degree  subsided,  I 
ieem  to  feel  that  this  mutual  explanation  is  • 
or  the  beet.     A<ter  what  you  have  acknowl-  ; 
edged,  I  will  confess  that  I  have  been  married, 
and  that  I  believe  that  the  person  whom  I  mar- 
ried is  yet  living  ;  feut  I  was  married  by  a 
;rick— by  a  piece  of  jugglery  which  was  un- 
known to  m«  ;  and  I  married  you,  at  least,  in, 
good  faith.    However,  that  has  all  ended — is 

jr ;    the   suspicions,    agonies,    miseries   of 
years,  have  ended  with  your  confession.     Be- 
fore I  received  th*  letter  of  the  villain,  "War-  ! 
iock,  your  revelation  would  have  slain  me  ;  as 
it  is,  it  gives  me  hopes  for  the  future ;  but  ere 
[  explain  what  those  hopes  are,  let  me  make  a 
few  remarks  upon  the  situation,  not  only  in  ; 
which  you  and  I  are  placed,  but  which  also 
compromises  the  position  of  others.    For  the  ' 
sake  of  the  innocent,  it  is  proper  that  we.  j 
should  proceed  aautiouely.    By  the  innocent,  j 
I  mean,  firstly,  the  Countess  of  Brackliigh. 
She    eureJy   was  unmarried  when  the  Earl 
sought  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  altar?"       j 

The  Marchioness  dropped  her  eyes  upon  the 
ground.  It  flashed  across  her  mind  that,  but 
for  her  arrangement  with  Bertram,  this  lady 
would  not  have  been  so  shamefully  deceived—* 
would  not  have  been  dragged  into  the  position, 
of  wife  and  no  wife. 

"  I — I — believe  so,"  she  presently  faltered.    ' 

11  In  that  case,  unquestionably,  Brackleigh 
has  committed  bigamy,"  he  mused,  rather 
than  suggested.  i 

"  He — he  is  at  least  safe  from  your  attack 
— or  mine,"  observed  the  Marchioness,  with  a 
furtive  glance  at  him.  . 

"  But  not  from  that  of  the  Countess !"  re- 
turned the  Marquis,  quickly  ;  "  and  I  shall  at 
least  have  the  power  of  enlightening  her  upon 
her  painful  and  degrading  position,"  he  added, 
quickly,  "  unless—" 

He  paused. 

"Unless  what?"  inquired  the  Marchioness, 
with  a  questioning  look. 

He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees  with  a  sud- 
den passion  at  her  feet.  ; 

"  Unless  you  save  me  from  despair,  mad- 
ness, crime,  perdition,"  he  cried,  with  a  frantic 
manner.  "  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you  pas- 
sionately since  first  wo  wedded.  I  have  borne 
my  passion  in  secret.  I  have  suffered  it  to 
prey  upon  my  hears,  my  soul,  rather  than 
pain  you  with  it ;  but  the  time  has  come  when 
silence  would  be  idiocy.  I  love  you,  and  I 
am  determined  that  you  shall  be  mine.  We 


210 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


have  both  erred.  We  hare  not  a  fault  to  fling 
at  each  other  without  a  fear  of  retort.  We, 
therefore,  must  sympathize  at  least  in  that. 
Why  not  in  every  other  feeling  ?  No  man  of 
whose  homage  you  might  have  the  most  exag- 
gerated expectations  could  worship  you  BO 
fondly  or  BO  devotedly  aa  I  will,  if  you  will 
accept  my  love.  No  slave  shall  00  serve  you, 
no  devotee  shall  so  adore  you  ao  I  will,  if  you 
will  only  receive  me— I  am  so  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world — as  your  husband.  I  do  not  ask  of 
you,  I  do  not  expect  from  you,  love  ;  but  you 
can  accept  mine,  and  return  me  gentleness  and 
kindness  ;  it  will  be  all  I  shall  ever  hope  for, 
all  I  shall  ever  ask  of  you.  We  will  fly  from 
this  to  sunnier  lands.  We  shall  still  be  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  what  we  have  been ;  but  we 
•hall,  in  our  own,  be  bound  a  closer  and  holier 
tie.  Do  not  spurn  me  from  you,  do  not  dis- 
card me.  Do  not,  I  entreat,  I  implore  you — " 

"Rise,  Westchester,  I  command  you!"  ex- 
claimed the  Marchioness,  in  a  loud,  indignant 
voice,  as  she  drew  her  robe,  which,  in  his  ex- 
citement, he  had  clutched,  from  his  hands. 
"  You  insult  me,  you  outrage  me." 
I  He  sprang  to  hia  feet. 

" Insult —outrage  you!"  he  ejaculated,  as 
much  with  fury  as  amazement. 

"  Yes,"  she  rejoined,  sternly.    "  You  for- 
get that  I  am  a  married  woman,  and  not  your 
wife." 
i     He  staggered  back. 

'•  Your  effrontery  has  no  parallel,"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  added,  quickly :  "  I  again  warn 
you — nay,  I  entreat  you,  not  to  reject  me  ;  if 
you  d->  I  will  not  answer  for  the  consequences. 
Reflect — shame  will  have  been  heaped  upon 
my  name,  and  wherefore  should  I  pause  at  any 
crime  ?  ily  own  life,  without  you,  I  shall  not 
hold  ai  of  the  value  of  a  minute's  purchase, 
and  if  I  am  to  be  hurled  to  perdition,  do  you 
imagine  that  I  will  not  drag  others  down  in 
my  fall,  too?  Do  you  think  you  will  escape 
m,j— do  you  think  he  will  escape  me  ?  No  I  I 
swear  that  if  my  hopes,  and  desires,  and 
wishes  are  to  be  shattered,  I  will  crush  those 
of  all  who  have  in  any  way  aided  to  destroy 
mine." 
,  y&e  recoiled  from  him. 

"  Your  answer !"  he  said,  between  his  closed 
teeth — "  you?  answer !  Remember,  you,  too, 
have  a  child.  Ah!  I  beheld  her  to-night. 
Reject  me,  and  I'll  reach  your  heart  through 
her.  I  will— " 

The  room- door  at  this  moment  suddenly 
opened,  with  the  preliminary  of  a  short 
knock. 

A  servant  entered,  he  bore  a  letter  and  a 
card  upon  a  silver  salver. 

Tke  Marquis  motioned  him,  impatiently, 
away,  but  the  servant  said  : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord.  General 
Alc'erion  is  the  bearer  of  thia  note  ;  he  says 
that  it  is  from  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  and 
that  he  must  see  your  lordship  personally,  in 
order  that  he  may  take  back  to  the  Earl  of 
BrackUigh  your  lordship's  answer." 

"  Aha  I"  cried  the  Marquis,  with  a  strange 


glee.  "  I  know — I  know.  I  remember.  Bid 
the  General  be  seated,  and  say  that  I  will  be 
with  him  in  a  few  minutes." 

The  man  retired.  He  tcre  open  the  letter, 
and  read  it  through. 

Its  COL  tents  were  a  cold,  formal  challenge 
from  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  in  consequence  of 
the  epithets  he  had  addressed  to  him  when 
they  met  at  the  Couuteai  of  Newmarket's. 
No  apology  was  asked  for. 

When  the  Marquis  had  finished  its  perusal, 
he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  spot  on  which 
the  Marchioness,  a  minute  or  so  before,  had 
been  standing,  but  she  was  no  longer  there  ; 
but  in  her  place  stood  Hagar  Lot,  the  gipsy. 


CHAPTER  XLYin. 
"  Have  I  then  liv'd  to  this  ?  to  this  confusion  f 
My  foe,  the  man  on  earth  my  soul  most,  loatheo, 
Rejoices  over  me  ;  and  she  -even  she 
Hath  join'd  his  triumph  !    Off,  away,  begone, 
Love  manhood  reason— come,  j  e  sister  Furies, 
Daughters  ol  Hate  and  Hell !    Arise  !  inflame 
My  murderous  purpose!  pour  into  my  reins 
Your  gal),  your  scorpion  fellnegs,  your  keen  horrors 
That  feting  to  madDess  ;  till  my  burning  vengeance 
Hath  her  full  draught  of  blood." 

—DAVID  MAILMT.  . 

The  Marquh  was  startled,  and  it  might  be 
for  the  moment  alarmed,  when  he  beheld  his 
passage  to  the  door  barred  by  the  tall,  dueky 
figure  of  a  gipsy  woman,  whose  eyes  were 
flashing  upon  him  with  an  unearthly  gleam, 
and  whose  aspect  was  that  of  a  desperate  luna- 
tic. 

He  shrunk  back  toward  the  bell  with  the 
evident  intention  of  summoning  assistance ; 
but  anticipating  his  intention,  and  perceiving 
its  cause,  she  said,  in  a  hollow,  yet  somewhat 
plaintive  voice : 

"  Remain  where  yon  are,  my  Lord.  You 
need  not  fear  me.  Whatever  may  be  the  dork 
and  malign  promptings  of  my  spirit  against 
the  welfare  of  others,  I  have  no  motive,  as  I 
have  no  cause,  to  injure  you." 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  he  ex- 
claimed, still  regarding  her  with  suspicion. 

"  Do  you  not  recognize  me?"  she  asked. 

11 1  do,"  he  replied.  "  I  do,  as  one  of  the—- 
the— secret  agents  of  the  woman  who  has  just 
left  me." 

"  I  have  been  such  ;  but  I  am  no  longer  h«r 
servant,  far  her  hour  Mfcs  come  as  well  as 
mine,"  responded  flagar. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  inquired  the  Mar- 
quis, quickly. 

"  The  clouds  which  obscured  the  setting  of 
my  star  are  fast  gathering  over,  and  blotting 
out  the  light  of  hers — " 

**  This  is  the  jargon  of  your  class.  I  do  not 
desire  to  hear  any  of  it.  I  have  not  time  to 
listen  to  it,'*  interposed  the  Marquis,  incau- 
tiously. "  At  once  communicate  whatever 
you  may  wish  to  make  known  to  me,  or  I  shall 
ring  the  bell,  and  order  you  to  be  removed." 

Hagar  drew  herself  up,  and  her  eyts  flashed 
fire.  She  was  about  to  reply  with  words  of 
haughty  indignation  ;  but  a  memory  appeared 
to  cross  her,  and  she  restrained  her  ire,  and 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


211 


spoke  with  a  manner  more  humble  than  she 
had  jet  done. 

"  I  do  not  marvel  at  your  contempt  of  my 
people,"  she  said,  with  downcast  eyes.  «'  Peo- 
ple of  education  ppurn  the  notion  that  we  are 
gifted  with  powers  of  inspiration.  They  ac- 
cord them  to  orators  and  poets,  and  those  said 
to  be  endowed  with  genius  ;  but  they  refuse 
to  believe  that  a  race  which  has  no  likeness 
among  the  tribes  upon  the  earth  should  speak 
under  influences  which  are  independent  of 
them.  They  listen  to  them,  marvel  at  the 
things  they  reveal  and  predict,  affect  to  dis- 
believe them,  and  yet  credit  them  still.  I  do 
not  resent  your  contempt,  it  is  the  natural 
prejudice  of  your  class ;  but  I  request  you  to 
•  heed  what  I  shall  say,  and  to  give  it  credence ; 
it  affects  your  honor,  and  it  will  cut  to  the  core 
of  your  unhappinees." 

,  "  Be  quick,  then,  for  lam  importantly  en- 
gaged," urged  the  Marquis. 
t  "I  know  it,"  replied  Hagar.  "I  have 
overheard  every  sentence  which  has  passed 
between  yon  and  that  woman  of  the  heart  of 
ice  and  the  will  of  ice  who  has  just  departed. 
I  know  that  below  there  is  one  awaiting  you 
to  arrange  the  terms  of  a  mortal  sirife  ;  and 
it  is  because  I  have  heard  her  purpose  from 
her  lips,  and  because  that  I  know  your  doom, 
that  1  am  here  to  speak  with  you." 

"My  doom,  woman?"  he  repeated,  with  a 
•light  start. 

"  Ay,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  at  hand  t  You  are 
surrounded  with  the  omens  of  death.  They 
threaten  you  at  every  turn.  I  cannot  discover 
the  means  by  which  you  will  fall ;  but  I  know 
that,  by  accident  or  design,  you  will  shortly 
perish." 

"  Impostor,  you  have  been  hounded  on  by 

kthe  creature  yonder  to  utter  this  balderdash  to 
me  with  some  infamous  object,"  cried  the  Mar- 
quis, hastily. 

**  What  does  the  note  still  in  your  hand  por- 
tend ?"  responded  Hagar,  sternly.  "  You  are 
no  coward — you  will  go  out  with  the  Earl  of 
Brackleigh.  Will  he  treat  you  tenderly,  think 
you  ?  May  not  hia  bullet  carry  with  it  the 
purchase  of  a  life  ?  Yours  is  not  a  charmed 
one.  Do  you  believe  that  even  if  you  con- 
duct your  mortal  strife  with  the  Earl  with 
Bwovds  instead  of  pistols,  that  the  point  of  his 
rapier  cannot  reach  you  ?  Look  on  this  paper, 
observe  the  handwriting,  closely  and  careful- 
ly." 

She  handed  to  him  a  small  packet,  upon 
which  were  traced,  with  a  pen,  some  small, 
neat  characters. 

"  It  is  the  handwriting  of  the  Marchioness !' 
he  exclaimed. 

'•  Read  ic  I"  she  caid,  laconically  and  em- 
phatically. 

He  read  aloud : 

"Three  grains  of  the  inclosed  powder,  dissolved  into 
acy  warm  liquid,  and  administered,  will  produce  cer- 
tain death  on  the  seventh,  fourteenth,  or  twenty- first 
day." 

He  looked  up  into  Hagar's  eyes  with  a  face 
as  pale  as  that  of  a  livid  corpse. 

M  The  meaning  of  this?"  he  asked, hoarsely. 


"It  istiie  property  of  the  Marchioness,"  re- 
timed Hagar.  *'  She  carries  some  of  that 
powder  constantly  with  her,  concealed  in  a 
gold  locket,  which  she  wears  attached  to  one 
of  the  chains  which  encircle  her  neck.  Hith- 
erto, she  has  refrained  from  using  it,  because 
she  haa  eeen  a  way  to  escape  from  yourthrall- 
dom,  and  to  the  passing  of  the  remainder  of 
her  days  with  the  Earl  of  Brackieigh  in  lov- 
ing dalliance." 

"  Never  1"  gasped  the  Marquis,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  deadly  malignity  upon  hia  face. 

"  Thus  far  she  has  escaped  from  all  your 
toils  and  efforts  to  retain  her  in  captivity,  and 
the  Earl  will  escape,  too,  your  eword  and  your 
bullet.  It  is  written  that  he  shall  not  fall  by 
your  hand.  You  may  etriv«  to  your  utmost 
to  slay  him,  but  hia  life  cannot  be  reached  by 
your  hand." 

"  You  cannot  know  this !"  exclaimed  the 
Earl,  articulating  with  difficulty. 

"  Who  should  know  it  so  well  as  I — I,  my 
Lord?"  ehe  returned,  speaking  with  strong 


ruined,  de- 


feeling.    "I,  whom  he  sedi 

stroyed— "  ' 

"You?"  ejaculated  the  Marquis,  gazing 
upon  her  with  wonder. 

"Even  I,  my  Lord,"  she  responded,  with  ft 
bitter  sigh.  "  I  have  not  been  always  what  I 
am.  Let  it  go,  I  am  now  what  he  has  made 
me ;  and  though  he  may  be  and  is  fated  to 
escape  from  a  deadly  blow  from  your  hand,  he 
will  bear  a  charmed  life  indeed  if  he  evades 
the  toils  which  I  shall  set  around  him.  But 
it  is  not  impossible  that  he  may  do  BO." 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  added  quickly : 

*'  It  was  I  who  stole  the  child  whom  your 
wife  bore  to  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh.  I  it  was 
who,  at  her  request,  consigned  it  to  a  life  of 
dire  poverty,  wretchedness,  and,  it  might  have 
been,  of  shame,  but  that  the  girl's  nature  was 
foreign,  not  only  to  her  position,  but  to  vice. 
I  it  was,  my  Lord,  who  provided  that  poison 
which  you  hold  in  your  hand  for  the  Merchion- 
ess,  when,  discovering  that  her  feeHngs  for  the 
Earl  of  Brackleigh  had  returned  into  the  old 
channel  in  which  her  first  love  had  gushed 
with  such  volume,  and  had  leaped  and  bub- 
bled so  tumultuouely  and  BO  joyously,  she  be- 
gan to  see  that  she  was  chained  to  a  life  of 
which  it  would  be  very  convenient  to  free  her- 
self." 

The  Marquis  clenched  his  hands,  and 
gnashed  his  teeth  together. 

"I,  my  Lord,"  continued  Hagar,  with  a  bit- 
ter sarcasm  in  her  tone,  *'  have  witnessed  in 
the  gardens  of  this  mansion  the  fond  endear- 
ments which  have  passed  the  Marchioness  and 
the  Earl  while  the  world  believed,  and  still 
believes,  that  most  shameless  woman  to  be 
your  wife.  What  more  would  you  have  me 
say  to  you  ?  My  Lord,  the  Earl  will  escape 
you — though,  I  trust,  not  me.  Will  jou  let  the 
woman  pass  from  you  as  scafchless  end  unin- 
jured as  though  she  had  never  wronged  you  ? 
Will  you  permit  her  to  lavish  the  caresses 
which  should  have  been  yours,  upon  another  ? 
My  Lord,  I  leave  the  poison  intended  for  you 


212 


EAGAR  LOT; 


•with  you.  I  take  my  farewell  of  you  forever. 
The  night  is  dark,  the  stars  of  both  are  ob- 
scured. I  oscillate  upon  the  verge  of  the 
boundary  of  eternity.  Your  shadow  already 
rests  upon  your  grave.  Will  you  sink  into  it 
unrevenged  ?" 

As  she  uttered  the  last  words,  she  folded  her 
cloak  about  her  face,  and  glided  swiftly  and 
silently  out  of  the  room. 

The  Marquie,  overpowered  by  the  passione 
which  Hagar  had  so  artfully  raised,  sank  upon 
a  chair  without  attempting  to  arrest  her  de- 
parture, a  prey  to  toe  most  terrible  thoughts. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  re-appearance  of  bis 
servant,  who  informed  him  that  the  officer  *rho 
Waited  hia  pleasure  in  another  apartment  was 
growing  impatient,  and  requested  ihe  favor  of 
an  immediate  interview,  as  he  had  other  pres- 
sing engagements. 

Tbe  Marquis  rose  up,  atd  bade  the  servant 
lead  the  way.  lie  passed  his  handkerchief 
over  his  face,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair, 
composed  hia  features,  and  made  a  determined 
effort  to  look  calm  and  composed. 

He  entered  the  room  in  which  the  friend  of 
the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  was  awaiting  him,  with 
a  fircn  ani  haughty  step,  and  b®wed  frigidly 
in  return  to  the  lew  bow  with  which  the  Major 
favored  him. 

"  Tbe  Lord  Marquis  of  "Weitchester,  I  pre- 
sume," said  the  Mr-jor. 

The  Marquis  bent  his  head  assentingiy. 

'•I  am  Mijor  Alderton,  of  the  Thirty-third, 
the  Duke's  Own,"  he  addedj 

Again  the  Marqcia  bswed. 

*'  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  note  to  your  Lord- 
ship from  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  upon  an  un- 
pleasant affair,"  he  continued.  "  An  affair 
which,  I  hope,  will  have  a  different  solution  to 
the  one  that  threatens." 

"  It  will  not!"  returned  the  Marquis,  coldly 
and  bitterly.  "  I  have  nothing  to  retract ! 
The  fellow  is  a  scoundrel  and  a  villain  of  the 
blackest  dye !  I  would  not  go  out  with  him, 
but  that  I  know  that  his  decent  entitles  him 
to  that  privilege.  You  may,  therefore,  spare 
yourself  all  trouble  and  loss  of  time  in  any  en- 
deavor you  may  wish  to  make  to  effect  a  com- 
promise. But  that  I  met  him  in  suc'a  an  as- 
sembly as  that  which  was  gathered  at  the 
Countess  of  Newmarket's,  I  wonld  have  ren- 
dered the  insult  such  that  the  suspicion  of  a 
compromise  could  never  have  been  entertained 
by  him,  you,  or  any  other  person  breathing." 

.*•  Enough,  my  Lord !"  exclaimed  tbe  Major, 
rising.  "  There  will  only  be  the  preliminaries 
to  arrange.  You  will  honor  me  with  the  name 
of  your  friend." 

**  General  Esmond,  of  119  Park  lane,"  re- 
turned the  Marquis.  "  I  will  write  him  a  note, 
and  dispatch  it  at  once.  You  had  better  wait 
upon  him  in  about  an  hour." 

The  Major  bowed. 

"Good  evening,  my  Lord,"  he  said.  "I 
have  no  doubt  bat  the  General  and  I  shall  ar- 
range everything  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  of 
you.  He  is  an  Irishman,  and  fully  under- 
stands these  little  things.'' 


"I  have  only  one  more  observation  to 
make,"  added  the  Marquis.  '  I  am  the  chal- 
lenged party,  and  I  shall  select  swords  as  the 
weapons  with  which  the  issue  must  be  tried." 

"  That  may  raise  a  little  difficulty,"  sug- 
gested the  Major. 

"  I  am  firm  on  that  point,"  returned  the 
Marauis. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  we  shall  arrange  it,"  re- 
sponded the  Major.  *'  I  know  the  Earl  to  be  a 
finished  swordsman — only  it  smacks  a  little  oi 
vindictivenees.  Good  eight,  my  Lord." 

He  departed.  The  Marquis  hurried  back 
to  bis  room,  and  sat  down  and  indited  a  note 
to  General  Esmond,  a  friend  of  many  years' 
standing.  The  contents  were  brief,  but  em- 
phatic. They  stated  that  the  Earl  of  Brack* 
leigh  bad  inflicted  upon  the  writer  an  irrepar- 
able injury,  and  in  retaliation  he  had  in  pub- 
lic taken*  tne  opportunity  to  deeply  insult  him. 
The  result  had  been  as  he  had  hoped,  as  well 
as  be  bad  anticipated — a  challenge. 

He  concluded  his  note  thus : 

"I  leave  the  arrangements  entirely  to  yon, 
except  in  tbia  one  particular.  I  choose  swordj; 
As  the  challenged,  I  have  a  right  to  name  the 
weapons — I  will  not  waive  that  right." 

This  not  be  dispatched  by  a  reliable  serv- 
ant, with  orders  to  proceed  to  the  residence  of 
General  Esmond,  to  take  no  rebuff  from  hia 
people  on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
but  to  see  him  under  any  circumstances,  and 
place  the  note  in  his  hands  only. 

As  soon  as  the  servant  had  disappeared,  he 
sat  down,  and  leaning  his  elbows  upon  the 
table,  he  laid  his  burning  forehead  in  the 
feverish  palms  of  his  hands,  and  reflected  on 
Hagar's  communication  to  him.    He  did  not 
detect  her  devilish  artifice  ;  he  thought  only 
of  her  assertion,  that  the  Earl  of  BrackleighJ 
would  not  fall  by  hid  hand,  that  his  own  noun 
was  come,  and  that  the  Marchioness  would^ 
escape,  to  bestow  upon  another  the  love  that 
he  coveted. 

"This  woman  may  have  spoken  the  truth,'* 
he  soliloquized.  "  She  belongs  to  a  singular 
race,  who,  in  spite  of  the  ecorn  and  ridicule 
cast  upon  them,  eeem  to  possess  some  remark- 
able power  of  reading  the  future.  She  has 
spoken  to  me  so  nearly  to  the  truth  that  she 
may  have  been  inspired  to  speak  the  actual 
truth.  If  I  am  to  fall,  shall  that  woman 
escape?  No.  What  now  are  consequences  to 
me  ?  My  hour  is  named,  and  I  will  not  quit 
life  without  having  exacted  seme  atonement 
for  the  pangs  she  has  so  heartlessly  caused 
me  to  suffer. 

His  face  assumed  a  terrible  expression,  aa 
proceeding  to  a  cabinet  he  drew  forth  a  small 
square  box,  which  he  unlocked.  It  contained 
some  glass  vessels  of  various  sizes,  and  be- 
longed to  a  medicine-chest  which  stood  in  an- 
other part  of  the  room.  It  contained  also  a 
spirit  lamp,  which  he  kindled,  and  over  the 
flame  he  held  a  eup,  in  which  he  poured  some 
distilled  water. 

As  soon  as  he  had  made  the  latter  hot,  he 
poured  some  of  it  into  a  small  glass,  and  into 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOE  GIRL. 


213 


this  be  dropped  a  pinch  of  the  brown  powder 
which  was  in  the  packet  that  bore  without  it 
the  handwriting  of  the  Marchioness. 

He  watched  it  eagerly  as  it  turned  the  water 
to  the  hue  of  milk,  curdled,  rolled,  twisted 
into  various  forms,  as  though  it  were  an  es- 
sential-oil. Then  it  gradually  subsided,  and 
became  still,  leaving  the  water  as  clear  as  it 
was  at  first. 

He  selected  from  the  vessels  in  the  square 
box  a  very  small,  narrow  phial,  and  this  he 
filled  with  the  poison,  corked  it,  and  placed  it 
in  his  waistcoat- pocket.  He  then  oarefully 
returned  the  articles  he  had  used  to  their  re- 
spective places,  and,  after  a  minute's  reflec- 
ion, during  which  brief  space  of  time  he  un- 
derwent a  severe  mental  struggle,  he  proceed- 
ed once  more  to  the  chamber  of  the  Mar- 
chioness. 

He  found  the  door  locked,  and  the  key  re- 
moved ;  but  he  possessed  a  master-key,  and, 
opening  the  door,  walked  into  the  centre  of 
the  room. 

The  Marchioness  gazed  at  him  with  sur- 
prise and  indignation. 

"  My  Lord,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  frown, 
"this  is  beneath  your  dignity;  it  is  con- 
temptible—" 

"  Stay,"  he  ex«laimed  ;  "  spare  your  insults. 
An  event  has  occurred  which  renders  it  neces- 
sary that  I  should  say  a  few  more  words  to 
you.  I  appear  here  myself,  because  it  is  es- 
sential that  I  should  meet  with  no  refusal." 

The  Marchioness  did  not  reply.  She  mueed, 
she  wondered  what  more  he  could  have  tc 
say  to  her. 

4  You  are  deeply  interested  in  the  matter  I 

re  to  communicate!"  he  added,  with  some 

phasis.  "  I  do  not  desire  to  reveal  it  to 
jvii  here,  but  will  speak  to  you  in  my  study, 
•from  which  you  can  "depart  at  wiSl." 

Still  she  hesitated.  There  was  a  strange- 
ness in  the  circumstance  and  in  his  manner 
which  she  did  not  like. 

*'  The  communication  I  have,  to  make  will 
bear  some  reference  to  a  note  which  has  juat 
reached  me  from  the  Earl  of  Brackieigh,"  he 
Bubjoined.  "  Refuse  to  comply  with  my  re- 
quest, and  I  will  not  permit  you  to  quit  this 
mansion— or,  if  you  escape  me,  I'll  hunt  you 
and  haunt  you  so  long  as  you  shall  live." 

She  glanced  at  him ;  a  malignant  scowl 
passed  over  her  features,  so  slight  that  it  was 
scarcely  perceptible— indeed,  it  eeemed  bat  a 
slight  contraction  of  the  brows. 

"  I  will  follow  you  once  more,  my  Lord," 
she  said,  as  if  suddenly  making  up  her  mind  ; 
"  but  it  will  be  for  the  last  time." 

He  bowed,  and  answered,  in  a  low,  impres- 
sive tone  :  "  It  shall  be  for  the  last  time." 

He  turned  and  quitted  the  room.  He  has- 
tened back  to  his  study.  Upon  a  sideboard 
stood  a  dgganter,  containing  sherry,  with 
several  grasses.  He  placed  the  decanter  upon 
the  table,  and,  by  its  side,  three  or  four 
glasses. 

Into  one  of  these  he  emptied  the  contents 
of  the  phial. 


He  had  hardly  secreted  the  little  phial 
again  when  the  Marchioness  entered. 

She  gazed  around  her  with  a  slightly  sus- 
picious air ;  but  the  room  appeared  to  wear 
the  same  aspect  as  before,  and  the  Marquis, 
with  folded  arms,  was  standing  in  an  attitude 
of  abstraction,  apparently  unaware  of  he 
presence. 

He,  however,  raised  his  eyes  almost  im- 
mediately afterward,  and  offered  her  a  chair 
She  declined  it. 

"You  took  the  opportunity,  Madam,"  he 
said,  in  a  frigid  tone,  "to  quit  this  room  ab- 
ruptly, when  a  servant  entered,  bearing  a  let- 
ter addressed  to  me." 

"  I  did,"  she  returned. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  heard  the  words  which 
he  uttered  ?"  be  inquired. 

"  I  clid  not,"  she  replied,  a  little  restively. 
"  I  thought  the  opportunity  favorable  for  the 
termination  of  an  interview  which  was  ex- 
tremely irksome  to  me,  and  already  protracted 
to  an  unnecessary  lengtn." 

"You  have  resolved  not  to  consider  the 
petition— humiliating  as  the  word  is,  I  will 
still  adopt  it — whichTl  have  presented  to  you," 
he  said,  in  a  tone  which  betrayed  irrepressible 
emotion. 

"  I  have,"  she  rejoined,  briefly  and  coldly.  ' 

He  made  one  more  passionate  appeal  to  her 
to  remain  with  him,  in  which,  in  spite  of  his 
struggles  to  prevent  them,  burning  tears 
chased  each  other  down  his  cheeks.  j 

She  listened  to  him  in  silence ;  but  when  he 
had  ceased,  sha  gazed  at  him  scornfully,  and 
said:  , 

"I  scarcely  imagined  that  to  your  other 
weaknesses  you  would  add  silly  childishness. 
Let  it  once  for  all  satisfy  you  that  I  hate  you, 
and  that  my  decision  is  therefore  irrevocable." 

He  turned  from  her,  convulsed  by  a  storm 
of  passion.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could 
restrain  himself  from  springing  upon  her  and 
strangling  her.  \ 

By  a  mighty  effort  he  mastered  his  raging 
feelings,  and  after  one  or  two  turns  up  ana 
down  the  room,  he  paused  before  her,  and  said 
slowly,  and  with  emphasis  : 

"  So,  then,  ail  between  VLB  has  ended  forever, 
and  events,  however  desperate,  must  take  their 
course.  I  shall  not  permit  them  to  glide 
smoothly  along  ;  that  you  will  perhaps  know 
hereafter.  I  will  not  detain  you  longer  than 
to  tell  you  that  the  note  which  the  servant 
brought  to  me  is  one  from  your  paramour — " 

"  My  husband,  Sir,"  interposed  the  Marchion-  .:• 
ees  haughtily. 

•  Your' pander,  woman,"  he  hissed  between 
his  teeth.  4i  Your  mean,  truckling  wretch, 
who  loved  you  dearly  and  honorably  enough 
to  permit  you  to  proceed  to  the  arms  of  an- 
other, with  his  fol],  free  consent." 

She  groaned  and  staggered  back.  This  was 
a  view  of  Bertram's  conduct  which  she  had 
overlooked ;  it  struck  her  with  strange  and 
terrible  force  now. 

The  Marquis  waved  his  hand  contemptuous- 


214 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


f  "No  matter,"  he  added,  "  let  that  go— you 
are  a  pair  well  fitted  for  each  other.  Never- 
theless, this  fellow  has  challenged  me.  I  shall 
go  out  with  him  at  dawn,  and  I  shall  either 
fall  by  his  hand,  or  he  will  by  mine.  We  can- 
not both  live.  I  have  made  myself  master  of 
fence,  and  I  think  he  cannot  escape  my  deadly 
thrust.  If  I  reach  his  heart,  and  I  shall,  wom- 
an, I  will  hiss  your  name  in  his  ear.  I  will 
call  upon  him  to  curse  you  as  the  author  of 
all  this  mischief  and  misery.  I  will  seek  your 
child  out,  and  tell  her  that  you  have  slain  her 
father,  your  own  honor,  and  hers—" 

41  This  must  not  be — this  duel  must  not  take 
place,"  cried  the  MarcMoness,  wildly.  "  Great 
iJod,  it  will  be  murder !" 

"It  shall  be  murder  1"  cried  the  Marquis  ex- 
citedly. "  For  he  shall  not  leave  the  field 
alive,  if  I  shoot  him  down  when  he  is  unpre- 
pared—" 

"  No,  no  P  she  gasped.  ^ 

"  I  have  sworn  it,"  he  cried  furiously,  "  and 
J  will  do  it  Wretch,  you  will  be  his  murder- 
ess, as  you  will  be  mine,  and  that  of  your  help- 
less child,  whose  only  shame — but  bitter  shame 
is  that  she  is  your  daughter — " 

"Peace!  You  elay  me  with  your  words," 
ehe  gasped. 

i  "  No,"  he  cried,  frantically.  "  You  have  had 
no  mercy  on  others.  What  mercy  should  be 
shewn  to  you  ?  No,  you  have  braved  it  well, 
and  long,  but  my  turn  haa  come.  Why,  I 
will  tell  your  husband,  woman — jou,are  fond  of 
that  word — how  often  you  have  caressed  me, 
fondled,  toyed  with  me " 

"  Liar!"  she  shiekod,  madly. 

"  What  matters  it  if  I  am  so  in  fact  ?"  he  re- 
sponded, rapidly  foaming  at  the  mouth  in  his 
excitement.  *:  I  will  swear  to  its  truth;  the 
world  will  believe  me.  Yon  will  have  only 
your  unsupported  denial  to  place  against  my 
oath.  Why,  will  not  lie  remember  how  you 
showered  your  tender  endearments  upon  him ; 
ay,  and  when  I  avow  upon  oath  that  you  have 
sated  me  with  the  like  voluptuous  dalliance,  he 
will  believe  me,  not  you.  Men  always  believe 
such  stories  of  women,  whether  they  are-  true 
or  cot. 

"  I  will  hear  no  more,"  she  shrieked  fren- 
ziedly,  and  tottered  toward  the  door,  but  fell, 
ere  she  reached  it,  upon  the  floor  in  a  swoon. 

The  Marquis,  who  had  followed  her  quickly, 
c  iughs  her  almost  as  she  fell,  and  partly  rais- 
ed her  up. 

He  gently  drew  her'  toward  the  table,  BO 
that  the  light  shone  upon  her  white  features. 

Her  eyes  were  but  little  more  than  half 
closed,  her  lips  were  slightly  apart,  and  in  his 
eyes  she  looked  more  beautiful  than  when  in 
full  healthful  life.  There  was  no  longer  the 
scornful  cast  upon  her  lip,  the  indignant  flash 
in  her  eye,  but  instead,  a  Bad,  pained,  heart- 
broken expression. 

Perhaps  she  seemed  more  beautiful  than 
ever  to  him,  because  he  was  about  to  lose  her 
for  ever.  He  bent  over  her,  a  jd  suddenly  be 
pressed  his  lips  to  hers  with  one,  long,  paeeion- 
ftte  kiss  ;  then  he  kissed  her  cheek,  her  eyelids, 


her  forehead,  and  pressed  her  convulsively  to 
his  breast,  and  BO  released  her. 

lie  groaned  and  ID  uttered. 

"  It  la  the  last  childish  weakness  of  which  I 
shall  be  guilty.  Be  this  the  proof." 

He  laid  her  tende/ly  upon  a  couch,  and 
proceeding  to  the  t»0le,  he  took  up  the  glass 
which  contained  the  solution  of  the  drci  wnich 
he  had  received  from  Hagar  Lot.  He  filled  up 
the  glass  with  water,  and  murmuring — 

*'  Surrender  her  to  him !  Never,  though 
the  scaffold  be  my  portion." 

Ilia  hand  trembled,  yet  he  did  not  epill  a 
drop.  He  stationed  himself  by  her  side,  and 
stood  there  motionless,  until  he  saw  her  begin 
to  revive,  then  he  watched  her  closely  and 
anxiously.  • 

He  saw  her  eyelids  flutter,  and  her  bosom 
heave.  She  raised  herself  partly,  and  pressed 
her  hand  upon  her  throat. 

"  Water,  water  P   she  murmured,  hoarse- « 

Jy- 

He  handed  her  the  glass.  She  seized  it, 
and  with  avidity  drained  it  to  the  last  drop, 
He  took  the  glass  from  her  and  dashed  it  upon 
the  ground,  so  that  it  shivered  into  a  thousand 
fragments. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  gently, 
and  the  face  of  Fane  peered  within.  There 
was  an  expression  of  alarm  upon  ber  face. 

The  Marquis  beckoned  her,  and  as  she  ap- 
proached, be  eairt ; 

"  Your  mistress  has  fainted,  woman ;  attend 
to  her!" 

Ha  turned  to  the  Marchioness,  who  had  be- 
come partly  conscious  of  her  position,  and 
said: 

"  Go !    Now,  and  unto  all  eternity, 
well!" 

She  «!rew  herself  up,  and  turned  upon  hit 
a  face  ghastlier  than  that  of  a  spectre,  her1 
bosom  heaved  and  fell,  an  expression  of  un- 
alterable scorn  passed  over  her  features,  and 
eke  turned  from  him  without  uttering  a  word. 

He  watched  her  as  she  gwayed,  rather  than 
walked,  refusing  the  assistance  of  Fane  from 
the  room,  even  unto  the  clming  of  the  door. 

Then  he  pressed  both  cleuched  fists  upon 
his  breast,  and  aafck  upon  the  couck  on  which 
— he  had  poisoned  her ! 

How  long  he  cowered  there  in  a  kind  of 
dreamy  distraction,  he  knew  not.  He  was 
aroused  by  the  arrival  of  General  Esmond, 
who  came  to  inform  him  that  the  prelimina- 
ries were  all  arranged, 

"  I  have  got  everything  my  own  way,  West- 
Chester,"  said  the  latter,  in  a  kind  of  gleeful 
tone,  which  the  occasion  by  no  means  war- 
ra&ted.  "  Ah,  now !  the  whole  thing  will  be 
beautifully  managed.  That  fellow,  the  Major, 
wanted  to  interpose  a  lot  of  red-dikuloua  step- 
u  laytions.  Murther !  I  soon  brought  the 
fellow  to  his  einees.  You  wanted  to  fight 
with  soords,  didn't  ye  ?"  ** 

"  It  was  a  sine  qua  non  with  me,"  returned 
the  Marquis,  in  a  faint,  but  which  he  tri«d  to 
make  a  firm,  tone. 

"  Well,  then,  it's  with  soords  the  fight  is  to 


OK,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIUL. 


215 


be  anyhow !"  he  replied  with  a  laugh. 
«< « Soords  is  it  ?'  sez  the  major.'  '  The  divil 
another  wipon  elee,'  sez  I.  Tken  he  hummed 
an'  ha'ad.  «  Is  it  fightin'  you  mane  ?'  eez  I. 
« It  is,'  sez  he.  '  Then  what  the  divil  does  it 
matter  what  you  fight  with,  so  that  you  do 
fight  ?'  sez  I.  '  Where  sha/1  we  get  the  soords,' 
eez  he,  *  at  this  late  hoar  ?'  *  The  divil  cares,' 
eez  I.  '  "We'll  get  them,  though,  if  we  fight 
with  dragoon  sabres.  Lave  tbat  to  me,'  se  z  I. 
*  The  Marquis  has  an  arm  chist  full  av  'etn,' 
eez  I,  *  an*  ye  shall  take  your  choice  from  a 
toasting-spit  to  a  naadle,'  eez  I." 

"  I  have  tne  swords  ready  for  instant  nee," 
exclaimed  the  Marquis.  "  Where  do  we  meet? 
and  at  what  hour  ?" 

"Well,"  returned  the  General,  "there's  a 
nate  little  bit  of  level  land  out  on  the  north 
road,  near  a  plaee  called  WiUeaden.  I'll  drive 
you  there  in  my  dog- cart.  The  major  knows 
the  spot  well.  The  hour  is  eix,  and  it  prom- 
ises to  be  a  foine  day.  I  will  take  you  up  at 
the  corner  of  Park  lane  here  just  beyant,  at 
five  o'clock.  It  id  two  o'clock  now,  therefore 
you  won't  have  too  much  time  for  the  Uttle 
rbit  of  writing,  and  a  email  tiste  o'  sleep  that 
ye'll  want.  Good  night,  Westche&ter  I  Re- 
member five,  and  don  t  forget  the  soords.  I 
shall  take  a  docther  with  us,  who  is  an  Irish- 
man, a  soldier,  and  a  gintleman.  Good-night, 
my  boy  ;  and  by  the  grandfather  of  M  Jises, 
don't  forget  the  soords I" 

The  General  hurried  away,  and  the  Marquia 
was  once  more  left  alone. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half- past 
two.  He  had  not  much  lime  left. 

He  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  drew  out  some 
writing  material,  and  then  prepared  a  codicil 
to  his  will.  In  this  he  revoked  all  other  wills 
which  he  had  made.  He  devised  the  whole  of 
his  personal  property,  and  all  such  other 
property  wnich  he  had  the  power  to  bequeath, 
to  be  equally  divided  between  his  wife,  whose 
maiden  name  was  Ada  Yian,  and  to  his  and 
her  daughter,  to  be  theirs  solely  end  absolute- 
ly, with  full  power  to  dispose  of  their  respect- 
ive shares  hereafter,  in  any  manner  they  might 
thick  proper. 

A*  soon  as  he  had  finished  it,  he  rang  his 
bell,  and  hia  valet  appeared. 

"Have  all  the  servants  retired  to  bed?"  he 
Raked. 

"  Not  all,  my  Lord,"  he  replied.  "  The  por- 
ter is  still  sitting  up  for  some  one  or  two  who 
Ere  out,  and  there  is  one  of  my  lady's  maids 
waiting  up." 

"  Send  her  to  me,"  he  said,  hastily ;  "  and 
be  as  quick  as  you  can." 

The  valet  disappeared,  and  very  soon  re- 
turned, bringing  a  young  woman  with  him, 

The  Marquis  looked  at  her.  Ii  was  the  girl 
whom  he  hid  seen  in  the  Marchioness's  room, 
assisting  Fane. 

"Has  your  mistress  retired  ta  reat?"  he 
asked,  B^ernly. 

"  My  L%dy  has  gone  away  in  the  carriage, 
may  ic  please  you,  my  Lord.  Fane  has  gone 
with  my  Lady. 


"  Do  you  knew  where  ?"  he  asked. 

«'  No,  my  Lord,"  she  replied. 

He  bit  his  lip.  Then  he  pointed  to  the  codi- 
cil which  he  had  recently  writcen. 

"  Be  good  enough  to  take  particular  notice 
that  I  sign  this  document,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
which  was  somewhat  indistinct. 

The  valet  and  the  girl  exchanged  looks  of 
surprise,  but  they  drew  up  to  the  table. 

He  took  up  a  pen  and  signed  it. 

When  he  had  done  so,  he  said,  in  a  peculiar- 
ly solemn  voice : 

"  This  is  my  last  will  and  testament." 

Then  he  pointed  to  a  vacant  space  at  the 
bottom  of  the  paper,  above  which  he  had 
written  the  usual  formula  of  attestation,  and 
he  bade  them  sign  their  names. 

Tney  both  obeyed  him  in  silence,  in  wender, 
and  with  trembling  hands.  Tken  he  dismis- 
sed them  without  farther  remark. 

He  folded  up  the  paper,  eealed  it,  and  ad- 
dressed it  to  his  solicitor. 

Then  he  wrote  a  letter  to  his  wife,  Ada.  It 
was  somewhat  lengthy,  but  it  pleaded  for  for- 
giveness, and  begged  her  to  think  tenderly  of 
his  sins  he  was  no  more.  He  added  a  few 
words  to  hia  daughter,  and  that  cost  him  al- 
most his  greatest  effort. 

Bat  he  mastered  his  task,  sealed,  addressed 
the  letter,  and  laid  it  upon  his  table  as  if  for 
delivery. 

Then  he  went  to  the  drawer  which  contained 
the  swords.  He  drew  them  from  their  cases 
and  examined  them.  They  did  not  appear  to 
have  a  flaw,  and  with  a  grim  smile  he  restored 
them  to  their  tcabbards. 

Then  he  examined  his  watch.  It  wanted 
still  an  hour  and  a  half  to  the  time  of  meet- 
ing, and  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair  to  ru- 
minate. 

But  he  sprung  suddenly  to  his  feet ;  for  he 
fancied  he  saw  his  room-door  open,  and  the 
Marchioness,  dressed  in  grave  cerements,  en- 
ter his  apartment,  stalking  slowly  like  a  spec- 
tre. 

It  was  but  the  mockery  of  a  dream,  and  he 
•paced  the  room.  He  resolved  to  doze  no  more, 
He  shuddered  as  he  reflected  upon  the  crime 
he  had  committed,  and  felt  that  he  should  wel- 
come death,  however  soon  it  might  overtake 
him.  ; 

At  last  the  time  arrived  for  him  to  depart, 
and  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  beneath  which  he 
carried  the  sworda.he  descended  the  servants' 
etai;  case,  and  quietly  let  himself  out  ef  the 
house  by  a  private  door. 

Ha  hurried  to  the  rendezvous,  and  found 
the  General  just  drawing  up  alight  trap  to  the 
curb- stone. 

Not  a  word  was  interchanged  between  them. : 

He  leaped  lightly  into  the  dog- cart  by  the 
side  of  the  General.  At  the  back  of  the  vehi- 
cle a  gentleman  was  seated,  muffled  up  in  a 
rough  woolen  wrapper.  i 

Tae  Marquis,  in  a  passing  thought,  suppos- 
ed him  to  be  the  Doctor,  but  he  did  not  salute 
him  nor  cffer  any  remark. 

The  moment;  he  waa  eeated,  the  General 


210 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


touched  Ma  borne  with  the  whip,  and  aa  it  was 
a  thoroughbred  animal,  it  sprang  forward, 
and  proceeded  to  convey  them  to  their  deati- 
nation  at  a  rapid  rate. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

"  Wonder  on  wonder  risea  every  moment." 

— SHAKESPZABI. 

There  was  a  strange  wildness  in  ttxe  eye  of 
Fanny  Shelley  when,  on  leaving  the  humble 
residence  in  Little  Elizabeth  street,  she  turned 
'(•  and  gazed  on  Floret's  face,  and  exclaimed,  in 
.   a  hoarse  whisper : 

"  Come  quiskly,  child*  come — come!'* 
Floret  was  fearful  that  she  was  about  to  suf- 
fer a  relapse,  and  suggested  to  Stephen,  in  an 
;  undertone,  that  he  should  hasten  and  fetch  the 
Doctor.    But  he  shook  his  head,  and  answered 
\  in  a  subdued  voice : 

1     "  She  be  in  the  hands  of  God,  Mies.    Let  her 
have  her  own  way.    He  will  conduct  her  to  the 
right  end,  I  feel  sure  ©'  that!" 
j     Floret  made  no  reply,  but  followed  Fan- 
i  ny,  though  with  difficulty,  for  she  moved  so 
!  rapidly. 

Yet  there  was  method  in  her  movements. 

Her  step  was  quick,  but  she  threaded  her  way 

among  the  people  with  ease,  and  pressed  with 

!  determination  en  to  cne  point. 

j  •  -  5. »  ery  now  and  then  she  turned  to  ascertain 

;  Whether  Floret  was  near  to  her,  and  the  latter 

could  see  that  her  lips  were  moving  rapidly, 

though  no  sound  came  from  them.    Yet  she 

'  saw  also  that  her  eye  was  more  settled  in  its 

expression,  though  still  eupernaturally  bright. 

j     Satisfied  that  she  was  st&i  accompanying 

her,  Fanny  pressed  on  until  she  had  reached  a 

',  large,  old-fashioned  mansion,  contiguous  to 

Hyde  Park ;  and  for  a  moment,  and  enly  a  mo- 

|  ment,  she  paused  before  it,  and  placed  her 

•  hand  to  her  temples,  as  if  to  collect  her 

j  thoughts.    Then  she  turned  to  Stephen,  and 

aaiU  to  him,  with  a  decisive  manner : 

|     ""Sou  must  wait  ray  return  here,  Stephen, 

I  for  I  shall  come  back  alone.    Come,  Miss  Con 

|  stance,  for  that  is  your  true  name,  that  by 

j  which  you  were  christened  in  my  presence — 

!  come.    She  will  not  deny  you  before  me." 

Floret  felt  a  gush  of  emotion  spring  up  to 

'  her  throat  at  this  communication.    It  was  the 

welding  of  the  last  link  which  completed  the 

chain  of  proof  to  la£y  before  the  world — no,  she 

!  thought  not  of  that,  she  thought  only  of  Lord 

,  Victor ;  for  he  now  was  her  world.    His  was 

the  approbation,  the  esteem,  the  respect  she 

>    wanted  to  win ;  and  having  won  it,  she  felt 

•   that  she  should  have  won  that   of  all  the 

\.  world. 

fj     There  was  a  narrow  gap  which  existed  be- 

,   tween  the  walls  of  tke  courtyard  of  the  man- 

,  eion  before  which  she  had  stopped  and  the 

•'  one  adjoining.    It  seemed  to  be  a  mere  strip 

of  land  left  for  the  purpose  of  determining  the 

,  exact  boundary  of  the  two  walls — a  cul  de  sac 

which  led  nowhere,  and  was  almost  apropos  of 

nothing. 

Yet  Fanny  glided  into  thia  opening,  and 
down  a  rather  rapid  decline,  until  the  spot  at 


which  she  paused  was  almost  enveloped  in 
darkness. 

Floret's  keen  eyes  detected,  however,  that 
Fanny  had  stopped  before  a  small  door,  and 
that  she  was  passing  her  hand  quiokly  up  and 
down  one  side  of  the  doorpost. 

Presently,  her  hand  rested  on  one  spot ;  she 
placed  her  other  to  it,  and  pressed  with  a  sud- 
den vigor,  and  the  door  opened  with  a  harsh 
creak. 

14  It  has  not  been  used  since  I  was  here  last," 
murmured  Fanny.  Then  a  spasmodic  sob 
burst  from  her  lips ;  but  she  placed  her  hand 
upon  her  throat,  and  prevented  its  repeti- 
tion. 

She  laid  hold  of  Floret's  hand,  and  drew  her 
in  gently,  and  then  closed  the  door. 

4i  Bear  with  this  way  of  entering  the  house, 
Miss,"  she  whispered.  «•  You  shall  leave  it  by 
the  grand  entrance,  and  as  a  great  lady." 

"What  house  is  this,  Fanny?"  inquired 
Floret,  in  an  excited  whisper. 

"  Piantagenet  House  I"  she  returned  ;  "  the 
bouse  in  which  Mies  Constance — your  mother, 
Miss — was  brought  up.  Come." 

"  But  Lady  Westchester  is  not  here  t"  sug- 
gested Floret,  a  little  earnestly. 

"  She  ia,"  responded  Fanny,  positively.  "  I 
know  it—I  feel  it  here,"  she  added,  touching 
her  breast,  and  then  subjoined,  in  a  mysterious 
tone  :  "  I  know  it,  because  I  have  seen  what  ifl 
about  to  happen  in  my  dreams." 

She,  with  a  light  step,  ascended  a  narrow 
flight  of  stairs,  which  were  carpeted  with  a 
soft  woolen  substance,  which  powdered  be- 
neath their  feet  as  they  trod  upon  it,  but  com- 
pletely deadened  all  sound. 

She  did  not  paause  until  she  reached  a  door, 
which  was  closed,  and  apparently  possessed  no 
lock  by  which  it  could  be  opened.  Fanny, 
however,  found  a  small  elide  in  the  molding 
round  the  doorway,  and  drawing  it  down, 
the  deor  opened  slowly  without  being  touched* 
It  was  hung  in  such  a  manner  that  it  should 
do  BO. 

Fsnny  passed  through ;  but  her  further  pro- 
gress was  barred  by  what  appeared  to  be  a 
wall,  which  stretched  across  the  second  door- 
way. She  pressed  it  with  her  fingers,  and  it 
yielded  slightly  to  her  touch. 

The  opening  had  been  canvassed  over. 
Fanny  seemed  to  understand  this,  and  did  not 
hesitate.  She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  pair  of 
eciesore,  which  were  attached  by  a  string  to 
girdle,  and  instantly  cut  through  the  obstruc- 
tion an  opening,  through  which  she  passed, 
beckoning  Floret  to  follow  her. 

Tke  latter  complied,  with  feelings  of  mis- 
giving ;  but  she  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat, 
and  so  she  stepped,  without  further  hesitation, 
into  a  moat  tastefully  and  beautifully-furnished 
boudoir.  It  bore  the  signs  ef  havicg  been  re- 
cently and  hastily  tenanted.  Some  articles  of 
attire  were  strewn  about  in  confusion,  and 
some  boxes  were  partly  opened,  as  though  their 
contents  were  about  to  be  removed  and  dis- 
tributed in  places  properly  appointed  to  re- 
ceive them. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL.  • 


217 


Floret  noticed  Fanny  gaze  about  her.  She 
saw  her  lip  quiver.  She  saw  her  brush  away 
fast  falling  tears,  and  press  Her  two  bands  to 
her  bosom,  to  keep  down  her  rising  sobs. 

Haying  seemingly  repressed  her  emotion, 
she  etepued  on  tip-toe  to  the  door  of  the  ad- 
joiniug  room,  which  was  partly  open,  and 
peered  anxiously  and  earnestly  within. 

Presently  a  low,  painful,  quivering  moan  es- 
caped her  lips,  and  she  turned  a*ay,  sank  on 
her  knees,  and  buried  her  weeping  face  in  her 
dress. 

'i  This  ebullition  of  feeling  lasted  only  for  a 
moment ;  for  she  rose  up,  her  face  still  wet 
with  tears.  She  tore,  rather  than  took  off  her 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  rapidly  removed  those 
of  Floret 

Then,  seeming  to  act  by  inspiration,  she 
drew  Floret  to  a  chair,  and  forced  her  to  sit 
upon  it,  motioning,  with  earnest  gestures,  to 
he  silent. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  that  Floret  was  seated, 
and  gazicg,  with  an  air  of  eager  expectation, 
at  the  partly-opened  door,  she  turned  her  eyes 
sharply  about  the  chamber,  and  saw  by  the 
toilet  glass  a  small,  neat  lace  cap.  She  seized 
it,  and  pressing  her  hands  over  her  still  beau- 
tiful, glossy,  dark  brown  hair,  which  was 
braided  plain  across  the  temple,  as  she  used  to 
wear  it,  in  order  to  smooth  it,  she  put  on  the 
cap,  and  then  sat  down  at  Floret's  feet,  and 
took  one  ef  her  hands  in  both  hers,  and  laid 
her  cheek  to  it. 

!    Then,  before  Floret  could  comprehend  the 
purpose  for  which  these  movements  were  made, 
•he  fang,  in  a  low,  sweet,  silvery  voice  : 
"La,  la,  la,  sol  fa  mi, 
My  lady  looked  through  the  orange  tree." 

As  her  voice  died  away  on  the  last  note, 
there  arose  a  rustling  in  the  adjoining  room. 

The  next  moment,  they  both  beheld  the 
Marchioness  of  Westchester  standing  in  the 
doorway,  with  a  look  ef  indescribable  terror, 
horror,  and  amazement  depicted  upon  her 
pallid,  haggard  countenance. 

She  seemed  not  to  see  Floret :  her  eyes,  her 
mind,  her  thoughts,  seemed  to  be  concentrated 
upon  Fanny  Shelley,  whose  pale  face  and  deep 
brown  eyes  were  turned  earnestly  toward  her. 

She  stood  motionless — transfixed  with  the 
fearful,  paralyzing  emotion  of  one  who  gazes 
upon  a  spectre. 

•  She  could  not  believe  that  what  she  beheld 
vaa  other  than  a  frightful  viaon.  It  was  so 
utterly  incredible  that  those  two  persons 
should  be  there,  in  real,  living,  corporeal  form, 
that  it  was  easier  to  believe  that  she  was 
gazing  upon  the  life-looking  shadows  of  two 
"who  had  risen  from  the  dead. 

And  what  did  it  convey  to  her,  that  the 
shadows  ef  two  persons  who  had  suffered  so 
terribly  at  her  hands  should  thus  present  them- 
selves to  her  ? 

A  low,  unearthly  groan  escaped  her  lips,  as 
she  gazed  breathlessly  upon  them— feeling,  at 
the  same  time,  her  flesh  creep,  crawl,  and  be- 
come blue  and  livid,  while  her  blood  ceagealed 
slowly  in  her  veins. 


Suddenly,  in  low,  soft,  sweet  tones,  but  with 
a  deep  and  quivering,  earnest  voice,  which  no 
language  can  fittingly  describe,  Fanny  went 
on  to  eing : 

"  Tet  cheeks  there  are— yet  cheeks  there  are, 
Sweeter— 0  !  good  God " 

The  Marchioness  clasped  her  hands  together, 
and  slowly  sank  upon  her  knees  S  be  stretched 
forth  her  arms,  and  bending  her  face  down  to 
toe  earth,  ehe  murmured,  in  intenaelj -excited 
but  scarcely  audible  tones  : 

"  Mercy,  Fanny  I    Mercy,  my  child,  mercy  I 

0  God !" 

Her  head  declined  to  her  knees,  and  she 
would  have  fallen,  but  that  Fanny  sprang  for- 
ward and  caught  her. 

No  sooner,  however,  did  the  cold,  clammy 
hands  of  Fanny  touch  her,  than,  wi  h  a  screech 
of  shuddering  horror,  she  sprang  partly  to  her 
feet,  and  staggered  to  a  farther  corner  of  the 
apartment,  where  she  crouched  down,  and 
covered  her  face  and  eyes  with  her  hands. 

Fanny  followed  her  gently,  and  said,  in  ft 
voice  which  Constance  only  too  well  remem- 
bered : 

"  Miss  Constance,  dear  Mies  Constance — I 
know  you  by  no  other  name — look  upon  me. 

1  am  Fanny,  your  devoted  friend,  your  foster- 
sister — Mies — Lady  Constance  1" 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice,  the  Marchioness 
raised  herself  upon  her  knees,  and  gazed  at 
her. 

Fanny  bore  the  look  unflinchingly,  but  she 
looked  back  for  one  of  those  soft,  loving  looks 
of  recognition  with  which  this  same  woman 
of  the  hardened  heart  had  been  wont  to  bend 
upon  her  when  she  was  a  girl  young  as  Floret ; 
and  she  looked  for  it  without  findicg  it. 

She  would  not  be  repulsed.  She  repeated 
her  exclamations,  and  entreated  her  to  ac- 
knowledge her  with  some  of  those  looks  of 
kindness  which  she  had  so  often  bestowed  upon 
her  when  they  were  children. 

"  We  nursed  at  the  same  breast,  dear,  dear 
foster-sister  I"  she  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "  You 
were  attached  to  me  when  we  were  gills,  and 
you  said  you  loved  me  when  you  were  a  wom- 
an, when  even  we  parted,  as  I  thought — ay, 
and  as  you  thought  too— forever  I" 

Constance  rose  up,  and  turned  slowly  from 
her.  She  pressed  her  hands  over  eyes,  and 
she  muttered,  in  a  tone  of  bewilderment  : 

"  Is  this  no  dream — no  wild  phantom  of  the 
imagination — no  spectral  vision  eoojured  up 
by  my  distracted  and  disordered  brain  ?  Can 
it  be  real  ? — or  am  I  mad,  and  this  one  of  the 
frenzied  illusions  which  the  mad  eee?" 

She  turned  slowly  and  shudderiogly  round, 
and  once  more  gazed,  with  dktended  eyes  and 
creeping  flesh,  upon  the  face  of  Faony  Shelley, 
who  stood  near  to  her,  in  a  meek  and  humble 
attitude,  with  her  bands  crossed  upon  her 
breast.  Then  her  eyes  wandered  to  the  face 
and  form  of  Floret,  who  had  risen  from  her 
seat,  and  who  stood,  with  her  countenance 
turned  toward  her,  more  like  a  statute  than  a 
living,  breathing  figure. 

Constance  removed  her  eyes  hastily  from 


218 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


her,  marveling.  She  eeemed  to  see  her  again, 
in  her  rich  robes  of  silk,  glittering  with  dia- 
monda.  It  appeared  but  an  hour  or  two  back 
that  ehe  had  been  BO  dressed,  jet  she  was  here, 
in  her  innermost  private  chamber,  which  she 
had  inhabited  herself  but  a  few  fleeting  hours, 
habited  in  plain  and  humble  attire. 

Ib  wag  incomprehensible  and  terrifying  to 
her. 

Presently  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Fanny, 

"  Does  my  brain  mock  me  ? — do  my  ejes 
deceive  me  ?  Is  it  indeed  you,  Fanny  ?" 

"  Ifc  is  indeed  Fanny  Shelley,  your  foster- 
sister  ?"  returned  Fanny,  clasping  her  hands 
with  an  expression  of  entreaty  to  her. 

Canttance  appeared  to  be  very  faint,  and 
she  placed  her  hand  upon  the  back  of  an  easy - 
chair  to  support  herself. 

"  I  was  informed  that  you  were  dead,"  said 
Constance,  speaking  with  some  difficulty,  and 
coughing  slightly. 

"  To  the  world  I  was  dead  for  a  time,  and 
all  that  was  in  it  was  dead  to  me ;  for  it  pleased 
Heaven  to  take  from  me  my  reason,"  returned 
Fanny,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  You  were  mad  ?"  said  Constance,  interro- 
gatively. 

"  I  was,  it  was  supposed,  hopelessly  mad," 
replied  Fanny;  "but  it  pleased  the  game 
Great  Power  which  deprived  me  of  my  senses 
to  restore  them  to  me." 

"  How  did  you  gain  admittance  here  ?"  she 
interrogated,  in  the  same  feeble  voice,  inter- 
rupted occasionally  by  attacks  of  a  short,  dry 
cough. 

"  By  the  same  secret  way  that  I  have  ccme 
into  and  departed  from  this  house,  many 
times,"  answered  Fanny. 

"And  why  have  you  sought  me?"  she 
asked,  her  tone  growing  gradually  colder. 

"  Can  you  ask  that  of  me — of  me,  Lady 
Constance  ?"  asked  Fanny,  with  a  sudden 
warmth  of  tone.  "  Have  you  forgotten  what  I 
endured  and  suffered  for  your  sake  the  last 
year  that  I  lived  with  you  ?  Bo  you  know 
what  I  had  to  bear  after  I  parted  from  you  ? 
Do  you  remember  what  caused  my  madness  ? 
—and  what — what — what — laid-— both — my 
parents — in  one  grave  ?"  she  concluded,  with 
a  violent  passion  of  tears. 

The  features  of  Constance  seemed  to  con- 
tract, and  her  white  skin  to  assume  a  pale  blue 
tinge,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

"  What  brought  me  here  I  0  Lady  Con- 
etanee !"  she  continued*  through  her  stream- 
ing tears.  "Lock  there!"  she  added,  with 
startling  vehemence,  as  she  pointed  to  Floret. 
"  Aek  me  what  forced  me  away  from  you,  1  will 
answer  you,  Look  there !  Ask  me  again  what 
brought  me  to  you,  and  I  will  still  answer, 
Looktfcere!" 

CoQKtaccc  let  her  eyelids  fall,  and  she 
trembled  in  every  limb,  but  still  she  did  not 
speak.  "  O  foster-sister,  fester-sister  !"  cried 
Fanny,  faliirg  upon  her  kcees  before  her, 
wringing  her  feaftds,  and  speaking  with  bitter- 
ness an<i  anguish,  "  I  was  from  childhood  the 
slave  cf  your  will,  yoar  caprice.  I  bore  with 


your  petulance,  your  haughty  moods,  your 
violent  passions,  and  the  impulses  of  your, 
willfulness,  without  a  murmur  ;  because  I  knew 
that  beneath  that  cloud  of  impatient,  mis-, 
chievous,  selfish  humors  you  had  still  a  gen- 
erous, affectionate  heart.     Those  by  whom,, 
you  were  surrounded  thought  net;  I  knew 
tkat  you  had,  for  I  had  seen  its  workings— I, 
had  experienced  its  softest,  gentlest,  tenderest- 
sympathies.    They  were  lavished  on  me — on. 
me,  your  foster-sister — the  daughter,  not  of 
your  parents,  but  of  humble  people.     But, 
there  stands  your  child !    Have  you  not  one 
spark  of  tenderness— one  trait  of  human  kind- 
ness, charity,  love  for  her,  Lady  Constance — 
woman,  if  you  are  woman — for  your  own  flesh,! 
and  blood — not  only  the  living  image  of  your- 
self, but  of  Her,  the  mother  of  that  God  who  ' 
died  to  save  us  all  ?    If  you  would  not  see  me 
fall  dead  at  your  feet,  epeak — not  to  me,  but, 
to  ber,  your  child !" 

Constance  shrank  back,  gasping,  panting,  ' 
trembling,  but  not  a  sound  escaped  her  lips." 

Floret  moved  instinctively  toward  her. 

Fanny  Shelley  rose  to  her  feet  and  took 
Floret  by  the  hand,  and,  still  speaking  rapidly 
and  with  great  excitement,  said  : 

"  You  were  such  a  girl  aa  this,"  she  said, 
"  when  love  first  stole  into  your  heart—you 
had  a  heart  then.    You  were  such  a  girl  as. . 
this  when  you  made  me  a  confidant  of  that 
love.    I  alone,  save  he  who  had  stolen  from, 
you  that  heart  which  might  have  made  you 
an  angel,  knew  of  this  love.    I  saw  its  gradual 
development ;  I  saw  that  it  bore  you  on  with  t 
the  impetuosity  of  a  whirlwind.    I   tried  to  * 
arrest  its  furious  progress ;    but  you  com- 
pelled me  to  listen,  not  to  speak — to  act,  but 
not  to  think  or  remonstrate.    I  accompanied 
you  on  that  cold,  gray,  bleak  morning  to  the, 
church  where  you  married  the  man  who  haa 
made  you  what  you  have  been.     It  waa  I- 
who  journeyed  with  you  to  Beachborough ; 
I  who   preserved  your  secret  there  ;   I  who,.! 
into  this  world  of  ein,  of  woe,  of  pain,  received 
in  these  arms  this  child— your  child.    Ifcwaa- 
I  who  bore  her  away  from  you,  at  your   re-^, 
quest,  to  dare  and  endure  a  lite  of  poverty," 
toil,  trial,  misery.    She  has  endured  ignominy,7 
humiliation,  suffering,  of  which  you  can  havo 
no  conception;    she  has  borne  all — all  but> 
shame,   or  vice,  or  crime.    She — she,  Lady 
Constance,  is  free  from  Bin.    I  took  her  from' 
you ;  I  restore  her  to  you.    I  place  her  on , 
you?  bosom,  mother  of  the  discarded,  and  ycul 
will  not  dare  to  thrust  her  tbgnee,  if  you  would 
not   call  down  upon  you  Heaven's  wrathful, 
lightning  to  wither  and  destroy  you." 

"  Mother !  mothe* !  tell  me  only  that  I  am^ 
your  child,  and  I  will  bless  you,"  cried  Floret/ 
with  clasped  hr.nds. 

"God  have  mercy  upon  me!"  groaned 
Constance.  Then,  suddenly  throwicg  open 
he*  arms,  she  caught  Floret  within  them,  and 
pressed  her  passionately  to  her  heart,  cry- 
ing: 'My  chiid!  ray  poor,  abused,  loBg-de- 
eerted  child !  pity  me,  pity  mel  You  c^cnot 
forgive  m«." 


OR,  THE  PATE  OP  THE  POOPw  GIRL. 


210 


She  kissed  Floret's  forehead  with  a  long, 
passionate  kiss,  and  Floret  pressed  her  lips  to 
hers  with  almost  frenzied  earnestness  and  de- 
light. She  sank  upon  her  knees  before  her, 
but  Constance  raised  her  up  again  to  her 
bosom,  and  whispered,  hoarsely  : 

"  Such  should  be  my  position  to  you.  O ! 
I  have  wronged  you  deeply.  I  have  sinned ! 
J  have  sinned !  Where,  where  will  be  the  end 
of  this  ?  Mercy,  Heaven !  I  am  unable  to  en- 
dure this  dreadful  emotion — let  me  be  seated. 
I  feel  as  though  I  were  dying." 

As  she  spoke,  a  violent  fit  of  coughing 
seized  her,  which  prevented  further  speaking, 
»nd  when  she  ceased,  a  slight  froth,  tinged 
with  blood,  rested  upon  her  lips. 

Floret  started,  and  gazed  upon  this  terrible 
eymptom  with  dismay.  She  looked  at  the 
careworn  features  of  her  mother,  and  observed 
that  they  not  only  appeared  to  be  drawn  with 
care  and  anxiety,  but  to  be  pinched  and  tint- 
ed with  a  death-like  hue. 

Constance  wiped  the  froth  from  her  lips, 
and  to  Floret's  earnest  inquiry  respecting  it, 
ehe  returned  an  evasive  answer. 

"  It  is  nothing  worth  heeding,"  she  answered, 
with  some  difficulty.  "It  is  the  result  of 
ceaseless,  dreadful  anxiety— of  detracting 
fears,  of  tormenting  doubts,  of  passionate  re- 
grets and  remorse  at  the  course  which  I  have 
been  placed.  It  is  impossible  for  you,  for  any 
creature  breathing,  to  surmise  what  I  have  suf- 
fered. I  doomed  you  to  a  life  of  privation — 
God  only  knows  what ;  but  I  doomed  mjself, 
too,  to  a  life  which  has  been  one  long,  pro- 
tracted torture.  If  there  were  to  be  no  pun- 
ishment hereafter,  I  have  been  punished  fear- 
fully here  ;  there  needs  no  other  hell  than  the 
upbraid  lag  a  of  a  guilty  conscience — " 

Here  again  she  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit 
of  coughing,  which  continued  for  a  longer 
period  than  the  last,  and  threatened  the  rup- 
ture of  a  blood-vessel. 

Again  a  frothy  mucus,  tinged  with  blood, 
bubbled  upon  her  lips.  Again  Floret  referred 
to  ifr,  but  her  mother  wiped  it  impatiently 
away. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  repeated  ;  "  and  if  it 
be  the  harbinger  of  d^ath,  I  shall  welcome  it.5' 

"No,  nr ,  »V'  mormured  Florc-%  tearfully ; 
"say  not  so.  You  will  yet  live  to  occasion  me 
many  years  of  happiness." 

"I  will  try  to  live  long  enough  to  draw  up 
a  statement  which  will  assign  to  you  yowr 
proper  place  in  society.  I  will  declare  to  the 
world  that  you  are  the  daughter  of  myself  and 
my  husband,  Viscount  Bertram,  now  Earl  of 
Brackkigh— " 

Floret  knelt  down  at  her  mother's  feet,  and 
upraised  her  clasped  hands. 

*t4  Almighty  Heaven!"  she  ejaculated,  with 
quirenng  kps,  •'  accept  the  grateful  offering 
of  a  full  heart  tendered  in  thankfulness  for  thy 
mercy." 

Constance  raised  her,  and  again  folded  her 
arm -i  around  her. 

"  Too  late  found,  too  soon  to  be  lost,"  ehe 
exclaimed.  "I  will  render  you  full  justice; 


at  best,  a  poor  atonement  for  what  I  have  com- 
pelled you  to  undergo.  To  the  statement 
which  acknowledges  you  as  the  child  of  th« 
Viscount  and  Viscountess  Bertram,  I  will  ap- 
pend a  will  which  will  give  to  you  all  I  pos- 
sess in  the  world,  which  has  been  settled  upon 
me  for  my  use,  and  te  dispose  of  as  I  may  see 
fit,  and  ail  to  which  I  am  entitled,  and  which 
may  be  bequeathed  to  me.  I — will — further 
— make— such— such  reparation—" 

Again  she  was  seized  with  a  more  terrible 
fit  of  coughing  than  before;  it  was  more  vio- 
lent in  its  symptoms,  and  most  painful  to  wit- 
ness, as  well  as  to  endure.  , 

A  sudden  thought  crossed  Floret. 

When  Constance  had  parlially  recovered,    ? 
she  breathed  to  her  the  name  of  Hagar  Lot,   \ 
and,  in  hurried  accents,   aeked  her  mother 
whether  she  had  taken  any  liquid  recently 
from  her  hand. 

Constance  clapped  her  hands  to  her  fore- 
head. 

*nO,  I  remember  now !"  she  ejaculated,  with 
a  wild  look  of  horror.  "  Fane  told  me  that 
she  saw  her  follow  me  to  the  study  of  West- 
chester.  She  has  had  an  interview  with  him  ; 
she  has  given  him  some  of  that  dreadful  pow- 
der. I  took  water  from  his  hand.  My  God ! 
I  am  poisoned  I" 

"  She  sank  back  upon  the  chair,  and  closed 
her  eyes  as  though  she  were  fainting. 

Floret  knelt  at  her  feet. 

"  Look  up,  deareat  mother,"  she  cried, 
eagerly  ;  "  fear  not ;  you  shall  be  saved." 

"  It  is  impossible.  It  is  the  gipsy's  poison. 
It  has  no  antidote  1" 

"It  has!'  cried  Floret,  with  passionate 
vehemence.  "And,  Heaven  be  praised,  I 
have  the  antidote  with  me." 

She  produced,  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress, 
the  small  phial  which  Liper  Leper  had  given 
her.  At  her  request,  Fc\cy  obtained  a  glass, 
and  she  poured  about  a  poonful  of  the  mix- 
ture into  it. 

With  a  trembling  hand  she  administered  it 
to  her  mother,  who  had  commenced  to  cough 
violently.  Although  still  coughing,  Con- 
stance quaffed  the  contents  of  the  glass  eager- 
ly, and  panted  and  gasped  for  breath  horribly. 

Presen  ly  the  cough  subsided ;  a  strong 
perspiration  broke  out  over  her,  and  stood  in 
thick,  white  beads  upon  her  forehead. 

She  placed  her  hand  upon  her  throat,  and 
then  she  turned  to  Floret,  and  said,  in  tones 
which  sounded,  in  contrast  to  her  former  tone 
of  voice,  singularly  clear :  "  I  am  saved  I" 

Floret  uttered  a  prajer  of  thankfulness  to 
Heaven,  and  if  she  ever  held  Liper  Laper  in 
her  grateful  memory  with  fervent  warmth, 
she  did  so  at  that  moment. 

At  this  moment,  Fane  burst  suddenly  into 
the  room,  with  a  face  upon  which  horror  was 
imprinted. 

She  started  back  on  seeing  Floret  and  Fan- 
cy ;  but,  almost  immediately,  she  wrung  her 
hand?,  and  exclaimed,  with  real  emotion  : 

"  O  my  Lady,  prepare  yourself  for  terribl 
news.  Something  dreadful  has  happened." 


220 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


As  e^ie  finished,  Lady  Henrietta  hurried 
Icto  tha  room,  weeping,  and  wringing  her 
bands. 

"  O,  my  child !  my  child!'*  she  exclaimed, 
and  sar*k,  in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  at  her  feet. 

Mr.  PJaotagenet  entered,  too,  with  a  digni- 
fied step,  and  wfp  about  to  speak,  but  the 
white  ghostly  face  of  Constance  staggered 
him,  and  the  spectacle  of  his  wife,  divested 
of  all  affectation,  weeping  passionately, 
seemed  to  completely  unman  him,  and,  turn- 
ing his  head  away,  he  covered  his  eyas  with 
his  handkerchief. 

\  CHAFER  XLX. 

11  His  hand,  unmaster'd  by  his  rage,  at  will 
A  thousand  stabs  delivers,  and  divides 
"With  the  head,  heart,  and  boscm,  as  his  skill 
Iratiucia,  or  the  unguarded  part  provides  ; 
Impetuous,  rapid  as  tne  force  that  tides 

The  whirlpool,  his  all  present  steel  appears. 
Tho  eye  bewilders  and  ita  art  derides  ; 

Where  least  expected,  there  It  most  careers  : 
There  most  it  strikes  and  wounds,  where  leas*  his 

i  ival  fears. 

Nor  did  it,  cease,  until  its  point  had  found 
Twice  the  pure  life-blood  of  his  bosom  gored." 

— TASSO. 

The  Earl  of  Brackleigh,  after,  his  return 
from  the  Countess  of  Newmarket's  reception, 
and  he  had  encountered  Floret  in  the  hall  of 
his  mansion,  retired  to  his  room  with  a  curious 
sinking  at  the  heart,  and  a  very  heavy  depres- 
sion of  spirits. 

Up  to  the  moment  of  meeting  Floret,  he 
had  been  all  fire  and  enthusiasm.  The  insults 
of  the  M.-irquis  had  roused  within  his  breast 
emotions  of  vindictive  rage,  and  they  added 
flame  to  long-smothered  feelings  of  revenge. 
He  bad  never  viewed  the  connection  of  Con- 
stance with  the  Mirquii  with  any  other  feel- 
ings than  those  of  angry  abhorrence  ;  and, 
etracge  to  say,  all  his  malice  and  rancor  were 
heaped  upon  the  head  of  the  Marquis,  instead 
of  that  of  the  guilty  person. 
i  He  had  no  idea  that  Constance  had  inter- 
posed such  an  icy  barrier  between  herself  and 
the  Marquis  aa  she  had,  and  occasional  con- 
ceptions indulged  in,  when  alone,  of  endear- 
ments bestowed  by  the  Marquis  upon  her,  only 
too  frequently  flung  him  into  paroxysms  of 
mortification  and  fury — paroxysms  which  in- 
variably ended  in  an  intense  yearning  to  wipe 
out  the  stain  which  he  considered  his  honor  to 
have  sustained  by  taking  the  life  of  the  Mar- 
quis. 

,  He  had  now,  he  believed,  an  opportunity  of 
executing  his  long- cherished  desire  for  ven- 
geance, without  being  exactly  amenable  to  the 
law.  Society,  he  knew,  would  back  him  up, 
.  however  deadly  might  be  the  nature  of  the 
satisfaction  he  exacted  for  that  unpardonable 
affront  which  the  Marquis  had  fastened  upon 
him  ;  and  he  inwardly  resolved  that  it  should 
cot  stop  short  of  death; 

He  was  an  accomplished  swordsman,  and  a 
first-rate  marksman.  It  was  a  matter  of  no 
great  moment  to  him  which  weapon  the  Mar- 
quis might  select  to  conduct  their  combat 
with ;  but  he  unquestionably  had  a  preference 


fo  r  the  pistol,  for  he  eonld  turn  and  fife 
a  correct  aim  as  quick  as  thought,  and  at  the 
same  time,  be  sure  with  his  bullet  to  strike  a 
vital  part  He,  however,  was  very  skillful 
with  the  email  sword,  and  had  a  favorite  feint 
which  seldom  failed  to  draw  his  adversary  to 
respond,  and  leave  himself  open  to  a  fatal 
thrust ;  so  when  he  learned  from  Major  Alder- 
ton  that  the  Marquis  insisted  on  fighting  with 
the  small-sword,  he  smiled  grimly,  and  made 
no  demur,  for  he  thought  of  the  feint,  and 
promised  himself  to  drive  his  sword  to  the 
hilt  through  the  body  of  the  wretched  man 
with  whom  he  should  be  engaged  in  mortal 
strife. 

Still,  aawe  have  said,  there  was  strange, 
heavy  depression  upon  him,  which  seemed  to 
make  him  bend  and  cower  beneath  it  ;  and 
though  he  made  several  desperate  efforts,  he 
found  it  impossible  to  rise  superior  to  it. 

The  sudden  apparition  of  Floret  across  the 
threshold  of  his  own  door,  the  aspect  of  her 
beautiful  young  face,  with  the  curl  of  scorn 
upon  her  lip,  which  made  her  resemblance  to 
the  Marchioness,  her  mother,  when  she  was 
her  age,  something  startling — the  haughty 
manner  in  which  she  passed  him  and  left  him, 
without  a  word,  without  an  inclination  of  the 
head,  without  a  gestute,  were  in  themselves 
cause  for  mortification,  humiliation,  and  irri- 
tation ;  but  added  to  these,  was  an  impression 
that  Constance  had  deceived  him,  that  Floret 
was  actually  her  child  and  his,  that  the  as- 
sertion that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Fanny 
Shelley  was  a  mere  concoction,  and  that 
he  unintentionally  was  aiding  Constance  in 
driving  her  to  destruction. 

And  these  reflections  brought  with  them 
others,  which  were  not  calculated  to  elevate 
Constance  in  his  estimation,  nor  to  hold  the 
part  she  was  playing  before  him  in  any  other 
light  than  one  from  which  he  turned  with  a 
blushing  cheek  and  a  bitter  sense  of  self- 
abasement. 

Still,  there  was  no  retreat  now ;  he  could 
not  avoid  encountering  the  Marquis  without 
drawing  down  upon  himself  a  storm  of  scorn- 
ful obloquy.  He  did  not,  indeed,  wish  to 
avoid  meeting  him,  but  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  faced  him  with  cleaner  hands. 

Like  the  Marquis  of  Westchester,  he,  after 
his  second  had  left  him,  sat  down  and  made  a 
disposition  of  all  the  property  which  he  had 
the  power  of  bequeathing.  He  left  it  all  to 
"Constance  Edith Plantagenet,  afterward  Via- 
countess  Bertram,  and  subsequently  known  as 
the  Marchioness  of  Weetchestcr." 

He  paused  there.  He  was  not,  however, 
satisfied. 

He  paced  the  room,  and  racked  his  brain  to 
remember  everything  for  which  his  Countess, 
though  not  h'j  wife,  had,  expressed  a  liking. 
They  were  no  many,  but  he  remembered  them, 
and  enumerating  them,  left  them  to  her,  with 
a  prayer,  iht  t  though  he  knew  she  could  nev- 
er forgiwh  im  for  the  grievous  wrong  he  had 
done  he/,  ehe  would  not  curse  hia  mem- 
ory. 


OR.  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


221 


This  done,  te  tried  to  believe  that  he  bad  • 
finished  the  disposition  of  his  property.  Bu^, 
no  I  Floret's  face  would  present  itself  before 
his  eyes,  and  some  inward  voice  would  keep 
repeating:  "It  is  your  child— it  is  your 
child! 

He  tried  fco  busy  himself  about  other  mat- 
ters. He  looked  out  a  pair  of  dueling- pistols  ; 
oaw  that  they  were  cban  and  free  from  rust, 
that  tbe  implements  belonging  to  them  were 
in  the  case,  and  that  there  were  bullets  ready 
for  u-:e— nay,  he  loaded  one  pistol— still  with 
one  thought  passing  and  repaeeing  through 
his  brain. 

"  It  ia  your  child,  it  is  your  child !"  mur- 
mured the  thought,  with  a  moaning  monoto- 
ny. 

Unable  to  bear  it,  he  seized  a  pen,  and  re- 
ferring again  to  his  laet  will,  he  added,  after 
the  words  Marchioness  ef  Westchester— "  and 
to  her  daughter— or  to  any  child  of  here 
which  may  be  also  able  to  prove,  beyond  a 
doubt,  that  is  likewise  my  child — to  be  justly 
and  fairly,  and  equally  divided  between 
them." 

He  was  more  satisfied  when  he  had  done 
this,  and  then  he  rang  for  his  valet  and  Nat. 
He  eigned  the  paper  in  their  presence,  and 
made  them  attest  it.  He  than  sealed  it  up 
in  an  envelope,  and  addressed  it  to  Mr.  Pian- 
tagenet.  He  handed  it  to  his  valet,  and  or- 
dered him  to  forward  it  to  its  destination,  un- 
less he  gave  him  orders  in  the  morning  to  the 
contrary. 

He  then  directed  Nat  to  be  at  the  door  with 
a  ligdt  open  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
horses,  at  five  o'clock ;  then  he  dismissed 
them  both. 

The  remainder  of  the  time  was  passed  by 
him  in  a  kind  of  lethargic  stupor,  out  ot  which 
he  was  unable  to  rouge  himself.  An  over- 
whelming sense  of  some  tremendous  impend 
lag  evil  seemed  to  etupify  him  with  gloom 
and  to  paralyze  every  effort  which  he  made 
to  throw  it  off. 

At  length  the  chiming  of  a  church-clock 
told  him  that  it  wanted  a  quarter  to  five,  and 
he  prepared  to  attire  himself  for  departure. 

Major  Alderton  was  to  be  at  the  door  as  the 
clock  struck  five.  He  knew  kirn  to  be  one  of 
the  most  punctual  men  living  ;  and  in  such  an 
affair  he  was  more  likely  to  be  ten  minutes 
before  his  time  than  five  minutes  after  it. 

It  wanted  five  minutes  to  the  time.  He  had 
a  strange  desire  to  look  upon  the  face  of  the 
Countess  of  Brackl«igh  ere  he  departed.  He 
had  never  felt  so  deeply  e.a  at  that  moment 
how  much  he  had  wronged  her.  Under  the 
impulse,  he  moved  toward  her  apartments. 
He  had  an  impression  that  she  would  be  Bleep 
ing,  and  would  not  hear  him  enter  her  room 
— would,  perhaps,  never  know  that  he  had 
imprinted  one,  at  least,  sincere  kiss  upon  her 
forehead  ;  the  last  his  lips  would  ever  place 
there. 

A*  he  stepped  slowly  and  nervously  for- 
ward, he  was  suddenly  startled,  and  bis  prog- 
iresa  was  arrested  by  a  loud,  shrill,  piercing 


agonized  shriek,  which  proceeded,  from  his 
wife's  apartment,  and  rang  horribly  through- 
out the  whole  house. 

He  turned  aa  white  as  ashes  and  as  cold  as 
death. 

He  caught  at  a  piece  of  furniture  and  clung 
;o  it,  to  save  him  from  sinking  to  the  ground. 

The  e  cream  was  repeated  ytjt  more  wildly 
than  before,  curdling  hia  blood,  and  making 
it  freeze  in  his  veins. 

This  fearful  sound  was  followed  immediate-  i 
ly  by  the  violent  ringing  of  two  or  three  bells, 
by  the  slamming  of  several  doors,  and  the 
hurried  pattering  of  feet  along  the  corri- 
dor. 

Preeen'ly,  the  sound  of  footsteps,  ha*tly  ap- 
proaching the  spot  where  he  stood,  compelled 
him  to  exert  sotxietbing  like  isfcif-po&seasion, 
and,  by  a  strong  exertion,  he  endeavored  to 
assume  a  calm  demeanor. 

Aa  he  did  eo,  he  perceived  Subtle,  the 
Countess's  maid,  swiftly  approaching  him 
with  a  distracted  air. 

The  moment  she  perceived  him,  sbe  wrong 
her  hands,  and,  sobbing  piteousiy,  cried  out : 

"  O  my  Lord,  come  back  witb.  me  I  Ot 
for  Heaven's  sake,  come  to  my  mistress — my 
dear,  de-.r  mistrefes !  Quick,  my  Lard !  O  ! 
great  Heaven,  help  us !  O  my  poor  Lady—- 
my dear  Lady ! ' 

Tde  face  of  the  Earl  of  Brackleigh  was 
something  awful  to  behold,  as  he  ha-.tced  to 
the  ravings  of  the  woman,  and  saw  her  fear- 
fully excited  manner. 

*'What  has  happened,  woman,"  he  ex- 
claimed, hoarsely,  "to  occasion  this  uproar 
and  frenzy  V  Speak!  What  has  happened?" 

"O  my  Lord!"  cried  the  woman,  still 
wringing  her  upraised  hands ;  "  I  caunot  tell 
you;  I  bee;  you  to  accompany  me  to  the 
chamber  of  my  Lady !" 

"Be  silent,  then,"  he  gasped,  "and  lead 
on." 

Sobbing  and  muttering,  Subtle  hastened 
from  the  room,  followed  by  the  Earl,  who  was 
quite  unable  to  imagine  what  had  happened, 
and  dreaded  to  surmise.  * 

As  they  reached  the  door  of  the  Countess's 
chamber,  they  saw  there  a  man  mi-filed  in  a 
cloak.  He  turned  to  the  E  ;rl,  and  said  : 

14  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  my  Lord,  what 
has  happened?" 

The  Earl  looked  sternly  at  h:m.  and  said, 
haughtily : 

'•  I  do  not  know  you!  Who  and  what  are 
you?" 

"  I  am  an  intimate  friend  of  Major  Alderton,"  ( 
he  replied,  readily.    "  I  am  a  surgeon,  and,  at 
his  request,  I  am  here  to  accompany  him, 
and ." 

"  I  understand,  Sir,"  interrupted  tbe  Earl. 
"But  eurelythat  does  not  account  for  jour 
presence  on  this  spot  ?"  < 

"No;  but  you  will  comprehend  the  cause 
of  my  being  within  your  house,"  answered  the 
surgeon,  "when I  explain  that  I  was  standing 
outside  your  house  when  your  groom  drove 
up.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  *  servant 


222 


Mi 

I  Wi 

L<r~ 


[rushed  from  the  hall-door,  with  a  very  excited 
manner,  and  your  groom  questioned  her,  not 
only  aa  to  the  cauee  of  her  excitement,  but 
[whither  she  was  going.  She  said  something 
(dreadful  had  happened,  and  that  she  was  hur- 
ing  for  a  doctor.  J  instantly  mentioned  that 
vras  one ;  and  I  have  returned  with  her  to 
'offer  my  services,  if  they  are  needed,  on  the 
Jnstant." 

I  "  I  do  not  know  what  haa  occurred  ;  but  I 
4Hn  greatly  obliged  by  your  promptness  in 
Rendering  services  which  I  have  no  doubt  will 
prove  valuable,"  responded  the  Earl.  Then 
he  turned  to  Subtle,  and  said,  sharply,  "  What 
has  taken  place  ?  Speak,  woman,  and  ceaee 
this  mummery  1" 

1  The  woman  pointed  to  the  chamber,  gasped 
twice  or  thrice,  screamed,  and  then  fainted 

*  upon  the  floor. 

With  a  sudden  wrench  at  the  handle  of  the 
door,  he  opened  it,  and  entered  it. 

|  The  cold  blue  light  of  the  dawning  morning 
shone  in  through  the  windows,  and  gave  to 

;  everything  within  the  room  a  ghastly  look. 
Before  him,  seated  in  her  chair,  with  eyes 

'  staring  full  at  him,  with  an  expression  which 
froze  him  utterly,  was  seated,  upright  and 
rigid,  the  Countess  of  Brackleigh. 

;  She  was  dressed  in  the  full  evening  dress 
which  she  had  worn  the  evening  previously. 
Upon  her  head  was  a  white  wreath,  glittering 
with  jewels ;  around  her  neck,  upon  her  bare 
arms,  were  jewels  glistening  and  glittering. 

The  hue  of  her  skin  was  livid ;  the  ex- 
pression upon  her  features  was  indescribably 
horrible. 

'  The  Earl  stood  spell-bound.  He  was  frozen 
to  the  spot — convulsed  with  an  emotion  which 
no  words  can  aptly  describe. 

o  "  Good  God  I"  ejaculated  the  surgeon,  as  he 
oast  hia  eyes  upon  the  Countess,  lie  ran  hast- 
ily forward,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  wrist. 
He  turned  his  face  awe- stricken  to  the  Earl, 
and  in  a  low,  it  seemed  an  unearthly,  tone, 
said: 

-  "  SHI  is  MID  !" 

The  Earl  tottered,  staggered,  turned  round, 
and  fell  heavily  upon  the  floor. 

The  Doctor  WAS  in  an  instant  at  his  side,  ad- 
ministering a  restorative ;  for  he  had  swooned. 

In  hasty  and  imperative  terms  he  bade  the 
eeveral  servants  who  had  come,  alarmed  by 
Subtle's  shrieks,  to  the  room-door,  to  lift  up 
the  body  of  the  Countess,  lay  her  gently  on 
the  bed,  and  cover  her  with  a  sheet. 

This  was  done  before  the  Earl  was  restored 
to  consciousness. 

When  he  had  revived,  and  could  compre- 
hend what  had  occurred,  the  Doctor  whispered 
a  few  words  in  his  ear,  partly  of  consolation, 
partly  to  nerve  him,  and  to  make  him  control 
the  dreadful  emotion  which  was  raging  in 
his  breast. 

He  did  not  speak  when  the  Doctor  addressed 
him,  but  his  upper  lip  quivered  visibly,  as 
though  he  wieh  &,  to  do  so  and  had  not  the 
power.  "  How  did  this  happen?"  inquired  the 
Doctor  of  Subtle. 


"  I  <fc  not  know,  Sir,"  she  returned.  "  All  I 
can  tell  you  is,  that  my  Lady  returned  from 
the  Countess  of  Newmarket's  last  night ;  it  and 
seemed  to  me,  Sir,  aa  if  Ler  brain  had  been 
crushed,  destroyed,  Sir,  by  something  that  had 
happened.  She  refused  to  let  me  remove  her 
dress.  She  spoke  of  going  out  again,  some- 
thing about  policemen  and  magistrates,  but] 
nothing  coherent,  I  begged  berto  let  me; 
summon  the  Earl  to  her,  but  she  refused  in  a 
very  angry  manner.  I  implored  her  to  allow 
me  to  feted  her  medical  attendant ;  for  I  could 
see  that  she  was  very  ill,  and  looked  as  I j 
had  never  seen  her  before — " 

"  How  ?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  explain  to  yon,  Sir,',; 
but  she  seemed  horror  struck  and  terrified;* 
she  listened  intently  for  sounds,  and  stared  at? 
me  dreadfully—" 

Subtle  burst  into  tears  again. 

*'  I  went  down  on  my  knees  to  her/'  she 
continued,  weeping  bitterly  all  the  time,  "and 
begged  her  to  let  me  summon  assistance  to 
her ;  but  she  then  seemed  to  recover  himself 
for  a  minute  or  two.  She  told  me  to  rise  up, 
and  bade  me  net  be  anxious  about  her — that 
she  should  be  better  in  a  few  minutes.  Shot 
ordered  me  to  go  to  bed,  and  said  that  she; 
would  sleep  where  she  was  for  an  hour  or  two, 
and  would  ring  for  me  when  she  wanted 
me  to  undress  her.  I  went  to  bed — I  see  now 
how  wrong  I  was  to  do  so— but  felt  very  un- 
easy about  her  ;  at  last,  after  waiting  a  long 
and  weary  time  for  her  bell  to  ring,  I  went, 
uncalled  into  her  room,  and  found  my  lady— 
as — as  you,  Sir,  saw  her — and— and  my 
Lord—" 

The  woman's  voice  was  choked  with  sobs, 
and  the  Doctor  bade  her  retire,  and  eompos* 
herself.  i| 

"This  has  been  some  awful  pressure  upon 
the  brain,  which  her  ladyship  has  not  had 
the  physical  strength  to  withstand,"  he  re- 
marked, after  a  moment's  pause;  "it  ha« 
been  borne  for  a  length  of  time,  but  it  reach- 
ed its  climax  of  unendurable  agony  last 
night — " 

The  Earl  waved  his  hand  for  him  to  be  si-  . 
lent: 

Then  he  said  to  him,  in  a  hollow  voice  : 

"  There  is  no  hope  ?" 

"  None,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head,  i 
"Her  ladyship  has  been  dead  tvro  or  three] 
hours." 

The  Earl  turned  from  him. 

"  A  broken  heart,"  he  muttered. 

Approach  Eg   the   bed   upon   which   tn«1 
Countess  w  s  laid,  he  knelt  down  by  its  side, , 
laid  his  face  upon  the  coverlet,  and  pressed  hia 
clench' d  hands  upon  his  forehead. 

He  remained  in  this  posture  for  some  few  | 
minutes,  and  then  he  arose. 

His  face  was  aa  white  as  marble ;  but  his 
features,  though  they  had  a  hard,  set  expres- 
sion, appeared  to  be  more  composed  thaa 
might  have  been  expected.  Bat  there  waa  ft 
bright  red  rim  about  hia  eyelids. 

He  turned  to  the  Doctor,  and  said,  in  a 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


223 


Toice  which  grated  unpleasantly  upon  his 
ear: 

"  Come,  Doctor,  we  must  hurry  away ;  we 
shall  be  lite." 

"My  God!"  ejaculated  the  Doctor;  "you 
trill  not  go  under  these  terrible  circum- 
stance*?" 

Tcie  Earl  set  his  teeth  together. 

«'  Will  I  not  I"  he  biased  through  them. 

A  servant  approached  the  room-door,  and, 
in  a  very  subdued  tone,  said  to  the  Earl : 

«*  M*y  it  please  you,  my  Lord,  Major  Alder 
ton  wishes  to  speak  one  word  with  you.  The 
Jlajor  eajs: 

"Enough I"  interrupted  the  Earl,  impa- 
tiently. 

He  went  up  to  Subtle,  and  whispered  : 

41 1  shall  return  here  by  eight  o'clock,  or — 
I  hare  given  my  valet  instructions  what  to  do, 
should  iny  absence  be  extended  after  that 
boor.  Come,  Doctor." 

"  My  Lord,  reflecfc,"  urged  the  Doctor. 

"  I  have,"  he  replied,  laconically,  "  and  I 
have  decided." 

As  he  spoke,  he  moved  to  the  room-door. 
He  gave  one  glance  at  the  white  sheet  which 
cohered  the  still  form  of  the  hapless  woman, 
whose  death  lay  now  heavy  upon  his  right 
hand,  and  he  shuddered. 

He  returned  to  his  room,  took  up  his  case 
of  pistols,  put  them  under  his  arm,  and  then 
descended  the  stairs  with  a  hurried  step,  and 
a  thoughtful,  dull,  and  heavy  aspect. 

On  reaching  the  door,  the  Earl  moved  rapid 
Ly  to  the  vehicle,  nodded  to  his  friend,  Major 
Aldertun,  sprang  up  on  to  the  carriage,  bare- 
ly gave  the  Due  tor  time  to  scramble  in,  when 
be  said  to  Nat,  in  a  tone  which  the  latter  un- 
derstood. : 

•«  Away  with  you ! — gallop  !" 

The  Major  had  already  given  Nat  instruc- 
tions whither  to  go,  and  tie  started  the  horses 
off  at  a  tremendous  pace. 

Nat  had  a  misgiving  of  what  was  about  to 
happen.  When  he  saw  the  Earl's  face,  as  he 
emerged  from  the  mansion,  he  gazed  at  it, 
•cared  and  aghast. 

He  was  certain  something  very  dreadful  had 
occurred  at  JLSrickleigh  Mansion,  and  that 
something  as  terrible  was  about  to  take  place 
where  th«y  were  going ;  but  he  could  not  sur- 
mise what. 

He  was  deeply  interested  in  both  cases ;  for, 
as  yet,  he  had  received  nothing  but  promises 
toward  the  purchase  of  that  u  stunnin'  pub", 
and  ike  solemnization  of  marriage  with  that 
**  'ere  fair  party". 

He  glanced  at  the  Earl  as  often  as  he  dared, 
and  then  at  the  Major,  and  occasionally  at  the 
gentleman  who  had  declared  himself  to  be  a 
Doctor.  His  inspections  were  not  reassuring. 
He  believed,  at  last,  with  an  unpleasant  sick- 
ing of  the  spirits,  that  he  was  driving  out  a 
ehooting-party,  but  that  birds  were  not  the  ob- 
j  :sc  of  the  sport  upon  which  it  was  their  inten- 
tion to  be  engaged. 

The  horses  were  remarkably  fast,  and  being 
pushed,  and  meeting  with  no  impediment  on 


their  way,  they  performed  their  journey  in  a 
yery  short  space  of  time. 

On  reaching  a  turn  in  a  winding  lane,  they 
observed  a  carriage  somewhat  similar  to  their 
own,  with  a  pair  of  reeking  horaea,  drawn  up 
under  a  hedge.  The  white  stream  from  the 
animals  was  rolling  up  in  volumes,  and  it 
was  evident  that  they  "had  been  driven  fast, 
too. 

The  Major  called  upon  Nat  to  pull  up  where 
they  were,  and  he  obeyed  instanter.  Jumping 
down,  the  Major  was  followed  by  the  Earl  and 
the  Doctor,  and  Nat  was  left  in  charge  of  the 
vehicle. 

A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  the  spot 
where  the  Marquis  of  "Westchester  was  stand- 
ing, conversing  with  General  Esmond  end  the 
regimental  Surgeon.  The  Major  looked  ner- 
vously at  his  watch.  It  wanted  five  minutes 
to  six  :  a  sigh  of  relief  escaped  him.  : 

He  instantly  hurried  up  to  the  General,  took 
him  aside,  and  conferred  with  him  in  anxious 
and  earnest  tones.  The  General  seemed 
moved  ;  and  when  the  Major  ceased  speaking 
to  him,  he  walked  thoughtfully  up  to  the  Mar- 
quis, j 
"  Westchester  !"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  ;  "  a 
very  shocking  event  has  happened,  and  it  is 
only  right  that  you  should  be  made  acquaint' 
ed  with  it." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  inquired  the  Marquis,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  The  Countess  of  Brackleigh  was  discover- 
ed  dead  just  before  the  Earl  departed !" 

The  Marquis  gezed  at  him  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Dead !"  he  ejaculated. 
"  Yes ! "  replied  the  General  "  It  was  rery 
sudden— very  unexpected—very  horrible,  I 
believe.  Don't  yon  think  that,  as  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  human  feeling,  and  of  respect  for  the 
memory  of  the  departed  lady,  we  had  better 
postpone  this  affair  ?" 

The  Marquis  reflected  for  a  minute,  but  foi 
a  minute  only. 

The  Earl  was  free— free  now  to  claim  th« 
Marchioness,  and  declare  her  before  all  the 
world  to  be  his  wife,  &nd  he  would  have  no 
power  to  interfere  or  to  prevent  it.  That 
thought  desided  him.  j 

He  turned  sharply  to  the  General. 
"Postpone  it!"  he  exclaimed,  emphatically^' 
"  certainly  not  I" 

"But  the  circumstances,  man  alive  I"  urged 
the  General. 

"Are  only  such  as  to  make  me  more  eager 
for  the  meeting  I"  he  rejoined.  "  You  do  not 
know  the  Earl— I  do.  The  death  of  his  wife 
at  such  a  moment  is  very  suspicious.  Ha 
has  strong  reasons  to  wish  for  Her  death.  I 
ehould  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  poi- 
son— " 

"  Hush  !  hush !"  interrupted  (he  General ; 
"  murther,  what  would  you  insinuate  ?" 

"  I  care  not!"  replied  the  Marquis,  excited- 
ly; "anything,  everything,  rather  than  he 
should  be  permitted  to  sneak  out  of  meeting 
me,  foot  to  foot,  face  to  face  I" 


224 


HAG AR  LOT; 


"  It  it'a  that  you  mane,  I've  nothing  further 
to  say,  Weetchester  I"  responded  the  General ; 
"only  juet  this,  your  goia'  to  work  a  little 
more  like  a  butcher  than  a  gentleman!" 
,     "  ffow?'  ejaculated  the  Marquis,  fiercely. 

"  Whisht ! — we'll  settle  our  trifling  discus- 
sion on  this  point  afterward!"  observed  the 
General,  with  a  somewhat  distant  manner. 
"Your  Jittle  quarrel  would  have  kept  until  it 
would  have  been  dactnt  to  fight  it  out ;  but, 
eince  you  are  so  determined,  the  civil  a  help 
there'ti  fur  i  ;  and  BO  you  must  tight !" 

"  I  am  determined  I"  said  the  Marquis,  grat- 
ing bid  teeth. 

•*Tae  bloodthirsty,  murtherin'  villain!" 
muttered  tbe  General  to  hircself.  "By  the 
maiden  aunt  of  Moaea,  he  manes  killing  his 
man,  if  he  does  not  firat  get  pinked  him- 
self!" 

The  Marquis  produced  the  swords,  and  the 
General  handed  them  to  the  M  .jor,  who  mea- 
eured  tbe  in  carefully,  and  found  them  to  be  of 
equal  length  ;  he  placed  them  in  the  hands  of 
the  Earl  of  Brsckieigh,  who  examined  the 
blades,  apparently  with  some  curio&ity  ;  but 
be  did  not  measure  the  weapons. 

He  divested  himself  of  bia  coat,  vest,  and 
neckcloth,  and  bared  his  right  arm  to  the  el- 
bow. 

The  Marquis  did  the  same,  and  then  ad- 
vanced with  a  calm,  measured  step  toward  the 
Earl. 

The  seconds,  each  armed  with  a  sword, 
closed  up,  tbe  two  'Doctors  arranging  them- 
selves at  A  moderate  distance  from  the  com- 
batants. 

Tbe  Earl  raised  up  the  swords  aiid  confront- 
ed the  Marquis. 

Tee  faces  of  both  men  were  perfectly  color- 
less, and  the  expression  upon  each  of  their 
countenances  was  sach  as  ic  would  be  well  it  it 
could  never  be  seen  upon  the  "  human  face 
divine." 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
their  orbs  gleamed  with  a  malignant  ferocity. 
The  two  secoada  obser/ei  their  murderous 
gaze  at  each  other,  and  exchanged  glances 

A  gea'ure  by  the  General  was  understood  by 
the  Major ;  and  they  both  watched,  «mh*al- 
inoat  nervous  anxiety,  the  conduct  of  their  re- 
spective principals. 

The  Earl  tendered  the  handles  of  the  swords, 
boloiog  tie  blades,  to  tse  Marquis.  As  he  did 
so,  he  edul,  in  an  undertone : 

•'Suouid  these  weapons  fail,  I  have  pis- 
tols." 

lie  pointed  to  the  epot  where  he  had  placed 
them  upon  tbe  ground. 

Without  looking  at  them,  the  Marquis  took 
one  of  tbe  ewordt>,  and  then  placing  himself  in 
an  auiiude,  be  exposed  his  bieasr,  that  toe  Earl 
might  measure  tee  distance  ;  tbe  Earl  did  the 
eauie.  They  both  recovered  their  respective 
positions,  and  then  they  commenced  the  dead- 
ly fray. 

It  was  quickly  observable  that  it  was  cot 
the  intention  of  either  to  protract  the  com- 
bat. They  both  attacked  and  defended  with 


great  determination  and  consummate  ekill. 
Afer  a  somewhat  lengthy  and  severe  struggle, 
they  both  paused. 

Upon  the  sleeves  of  the  shirts  of  both,  blood 
was  visible  ia  two  or  three  places,  showing 
that  some  hits  had  been  made  on  both  sides, 
though  not  of  any  serious  moment. 

The  two  seconds,  upon  observing  them,  as 
by  consent,  rest,  both  approached. 

"S:and  back,"  thundered  the  Marquis". 
"To  your  guard!"  he  shouted  to  the  Earl,, 
and  renewed  the  contest  with  a  violence  and 
fury  which  be  had  not  before  exhibited. 

The  Earl  psrried  hia  thrusts  like  lightning; 
and  tbe  clash  of  swords,  so  sharp,  so  swift,  so 
incessant:,  wound  up  the  seconds  to  a  pitch  of 
intense  excitement. 

Tbe  Marquis  kept  up  his  violent  attack  ;  he 
pressed  on  the  Earl,  he  forced  him  to  give 
ground,  b.it,  notwithstanding  the  rapidity  with 
which  he  used  his  sword,  the  Earl  successfully 
foiled  him  at  all  points. 

But  bis'blood  had  been  roused  up  until  if 
boiled.  He  began  to  feel  exhausted,  and  in- 
sensibly he,  too,  commenced  to  fight  with 
desperate  fury  and  determination;  and  sud- 
denly, in  one  of  their  most  furious  an  1  rapid 
passaffep,  a  endden  sharp  ring  was  heard — the 
eword  of  tue  Marquis  broke  short  off  oear  the 
guard,  and  went  living  in  the  air ;  at  the  same 
moment,  the  eword  of  the  Earl  passed  through 
hia  body  up  to  the  hilt. 

He  drew  it  out  ensanguined,  and  waved  it 
thrice  sharply  in  the  air. 

The  Maquis  staggered,  and  fell. 

II «  fell  cioee  to  the  pistol-case. 

His  half  dazed  eyes  caught  sight  of  the 
weapons  within  it.  He  seized  one  ;  it  was  the 
CLJy  one  leaded. 

He  pointed  it  at  the  Earl,  and  pulled  the 
trigger. 

Ic  was  ft  hftir-trigger  ;  a  puff  of  wind  almost 
would  have  moved  it ;  there  was  a  flash  and  a 
report. 

A  shriek  buret  from  the  lips  of  tbe  Earl,  and 
he  feil  back  motionless  upon  the  ground. 

Tse  surgeons  and  seconds  each  attended 
their  men. 

Toe  Bdarqmswas  Heeding  fearfully  from  hi* 
wound,  wbich  was  close  In  tue  proximity  of  tbe 
heart.,  if  if,  h  id  not  touched  k-. 

The  Doctor  raised  him  B;erj7\r  «p,  and  he 
gasped  iwice  or  thrice.    His  eyes  o^ntd  and  ' 
shut  eeverttl  times. 

He  tried  co  jpeak,  but  no  sound  c*T>e  from 
bis  lipa  ;  and  then  there  was  a  3  iarj  convul- 
sive thudder  paaaed  through  his  f*  auae,  and  his 
i*w  fell. 

"  God  preserve  us!"  ejaculated  tbe  General ;  , 

The   Ducior  laid  him  tenderly  upon  the  , 
grass. 

"He  is  <?ead,"  he  said,  quie'ly  *-Let  ua 
?ee  whether  we  oau  do  anything  «ua  the  other 
man  " 

Toey  hurried  up  to  the  Earl  of  B-actMghj 
and  loubd  tbe  surgeon  attending  iu  a  pistol- 
ehot  wound,  which  passed  through  Ids  cheefc, 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


225 


ioushed  hia  lungs,  and  had  gone  out  beneath  i 
his  left  shoulder. 

The  surgeon  who  had  attended  the  Marquis 
assisted  to  stop  the  hemorrhage,  which  was 
very  great,  and  while  they  were  doing  BO,  the 
Earl  revived  ;  he  looked  dreamily  around  him, 
then  upon  the  faces  of  those  who  were  bending 
over  him. 

After  two  or  three  efforts  to  speak,  he  said, 
in  a  whisper— a  horrible  whisper  it  was  : 

"  Where  is  the  Marquis  ?" 

"  In  heaven,  it  is  to  be  hoped  !"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  surgeons. 

"If  they  admit  murderers  in  that  holy 
place,"  observed  the  General,  with  a  gloomy 
brow;  "  By  the  hely  saints,  my  Lord  Brack- 
leigh,  you've  been  killed  by  a  very  dirty  paieo 
of  murther,  anyway." 

"  la  he  dead?"  asked  the  Earl,  eagerly. 

41  He  is,"  replied  the  surgeon,  in  whose  arms 
he  had  died. 

"You  are  sure?" 

"  Positive." 

"I  am  glad  that  it  is  so ;  it  is  better  that  he 
should  be  dead  than  live  on,"  he  murmured. 

He  became  silent  for  a  short  time  while  the 
surgeons  were  occupied  in  bandaging  him  up. 

Presently  he  said,  in  a  low,  hoarse  whisper 
to  the  Doctor  who  had  accompanied  him  to 
the  ground  : 

"  I  may  rely  upon  your  telling  me  the  truth. 
Answer  me :  this  wound  I  have  received  is 
mortal,  ie  it  not?" 

The  Doctor  turned  away  his  face  with  a  sad 
expression  upon  it. 

"  Answer  me,"  he  murmured.  "  Under- 
stand—it is  my  most  earnest  desire  that  it 
Bbould  be  so.  I  have  done  with  life ;  but  it  is 
my  wish  to  make  some  amends  for  wrongs  I 
have  committed,  and  to  make  my  peace  with 
an  offended  Maker,  if  £  can,  while  there  is  yet 
time." 

**  Your  wound  is  mortal,"  replied  the  Doc- 
tor, in  low,  solemn  tones. 

"I  am  satisfied,"  he  rejoined.  "Now  tell 
me  how  long  T  have  yet  to  live." 

"  About  six  hours,"  returned  the  Doctor, 
sadly ;  "  you  must  not  hope  to  survive  beyond 
that  period." 

*•  Take  nee  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  Plan- 
tagenet  House !"  he  exclaimed. 

They  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

He  raised  his  white  hands  in  a  suppliant  at- 
titude to  them. 

"  Be  merciful  to  me,"  he  said,  faintly ;  "  ask 
me  no  questions,  but  bear  me  there." 

He  was  carefully  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and 
jhe  four  individuals  by  whom  he  was  surround- 
ed carried  Utra  slowly  and  carefully  to  his  car- 
riage, in  which  he  was  placed  with  the  great- 
est possible  tenderness  and'gentleness — no  little 
to  the  amazement  of  Nat,  who,  when  he  saw 
the  Earl's  pale  face,  with  scarcely  a  sign  of 
pfe  in  it,  felt  his  heart  fall  like  a  lump  of  lead 
in  bis  body. 

They  then  returned,  and,  raising  up  the  dead 
body  of  the  Marquis,  the  General  and  the  sur- 
geon, took  charge  of  it,  bore  it  to  the  carriage, 


and  drove  off  at  a  swift  pace  to  Westcheater 
Bouse. 

Nat,  instructed  by  the  surgeon,  moved  only 
at  a  snail's  pace,  for  fear  that  the  jarring  or 
Bolting  of  the  carriage  should  increase  the  iu- 
;ernaf  hemorrhage  which  was  going  on  in  the 
body  of  the  Earl. 

On  reaching  P'.antagenet  House,  the  Earl 
was  borne  into  the  bouse,  and  conveyed  to  & 
bedchamber. 

As  soon  as  he  was  laid  upon  a  bed,  he  sent 
for  Lady  Henrietta  Plantagenet,  and  before 
she  had  got  over  the  horror  of  witnessing  him 
n  that  frightful  condition,  he  briefly  explained 
bis  connection  with  her  daughter  to  her,  and 
begged  to  be  permitted  to  see  her. 

Lady  Henrietta  sought  Mr.  Plantagenetv 
and  revealed  to  him  what  she  had  heard  from 
the  Earl.  He  listened  to  her  with  amaze- 
ment, and  himeelf  huriied  to  the  Earl's  cham- 
ber. 

The  surgeon,  however,  intervened,  and 
pointed  out  to  him  that,  as  the  Earl  had 
scarcely  an  hour  to  live,  it  would  be  proper  to 
stifle  all  indignation,  and  suffer  him  to  have 
his  last  interview  in  peace  with  the  lady,  who, 
in  his  dying  hour,  he  solemnly  declared  to  be 
his  wife. 

Tnen,  dumbtounded,  overwhelmed  with 
amazement,  bewildered,  oppressed  with  grief 
and  horror,  they  together  sought  their  daugh- 
ter's chamber. 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

"  My  lord,  my  love, 
I  know  you  look  on  me  as  the  cause, 
The  fatal  cause  ot  all  jour  ills.    Too  true  ! 
That  guilt  was  mine— 0,  would  to  Heaven  this  head 
Had  been  laid  low  in  earth  ere  tt  at  sad  hour." 

— EURTDICE. 

The  Lady  Henrietta  Plantagenet  was  a  poor 
hand  at  breaking  painful  intelligence.  It  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  Constance  could,  be- 
tween her  paroxysms  of  grief,  gather  anything 
approaching  to  a  resemblance  of  the  unwel- 
come tidings  which  she  had  to  communicate  ; 
but,  at  last,  she  gathered  that  the  Earl  was  in 
a  chamber  below,  one  mass  of  wounds,  and 
bleeding  to  death  ;  and  she  surmised  that  a 
eanguinary  duel  had  been  fought  between  him 
and  the  Marquis  of  Wtstchester. 

Her  mother  had  blurted  out  to  her  that  she 
must  make  haste  and  see  the  Earl,  who  was 
dying  rapidly,  and  that  he  was  already  de- 
lirious ;  for  he  would  insist  that  she  was  his 
wife. 

Of  all  her  trials,  of  all  tl\e  terrible  and  ua- 
eipected  shocks  which  Constance  had  ever  re- 
ceived, the  intelligence  which  her  mother  now 
bore  to  her  was  certainly  the  heaviest  and  the 
most  terrible  ;  but  she  received  it  with  more 
calmness  and  firmness,  perhaps,  because  she 
knew  that  it  must  be  the  last.  Nothing  could 
surpass  it  in  agony  pcd  horror ;  and  she  al- 
most felt  a  strange  'ndeecribable  relief  ia 
knowing  that  the  worst  had  come  at  last. 

She  felt  very  weak,  very  hysterical,  very, 
very  ill ;  her  brain  seemed  crushed  beneath  a 
heavy  pressure,  and  she  felt  as  if  some  uc- 


HAGAR  LOT ; 


ON»  Hostile  power  was  dragging  her  heart 
«flmm  —  down  to  perdition. 

Hi&affily  hopeless,  now  wholly  despairing  of 
anrj  j»eace  in  the  future,  she  prepared  to  go 
'ftferwagh  the  last  ecene  in  the  terrible  drama  in 
Itad  played  BO  important,  and  so  bad 
. 
turned  to  Floret,  and  took  her  by  the 


"Come,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  but  hollow 
Mfli.    "  Come,    my  child  ;     thia   interview 
be  passed  through  between  you  and  me 

awl  him  alone." 

A  faint  scream  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 

&«#y  Henrietta  as  Constance  addressed  Flore? 

at  her  child  ;  and  Mr.  Plantagenet  staggered 

&M&,  aa  though  he  had  been  struck  by  a 

.    Constance  noticed  their  emotion. 

.    $hft  said  to  her  father,  in  earnest  tones  : 

"•I  have  been  wicked,  Sir;  but  I  have 
S&K&Bght  no  shame  upon  the  name  of  Plan- 
fcjwnet." 

£he  pointed  to  Fanny  Shelley. 

<*  'Store  sits  my  foster  sister.  Aek  my  se- 
oAct  history,  while  I  still  remained  a  Plantage- 
•&&,,  from  her  ;  I  release  her  from  every  prom- 
awe  »f  secrecy  which  she  made  to  me." 

'Slas  pressed  Floret's  hand. 

*€ome,"  she  said,  in  a  voine  which  trem- 
llb&now,  "  the  moments  are  precious  to  us. 
(u  A  drop  of  blood  bears  away  a  minute  of 
" 


HObey  descended  to  the  chamber,  in  which 
tying,  nearly  senseless,  the  Earl  of  Brack- 


The  Countess  motioned  to  the  Doctor,  and 
woman,  who  had  been  hastily  brought 
J&re  as  a  nurse,  to  retire. 

Me  understood,  at  a  glance,  who  she  was, 
:%ij;  bowing,  he  glided  to  the  door,  followed 
%  *he  nurse. 

'-.  -onatar.ee  knelt  down  by  the  bedside,  and 
ISoret,  half  fainting,  knelt  too. 

"-Bertram,"  ejaculated  Constance,  in  a 
Ipntto  tone,  yet  cne  which  quivered  with  the 
intensity  of  the  emotion  she  was  suffering. 

'Me  appeared  to  be  dozing;  but,  at  the 
wand  of  her  voice,  he  turned  his  face  quiok- 
31$,.  and  stretched  for  Mi  his  white  thin  hand. 

3he  took  it,  bent  her  face  over  it,  and  bathed 
•>,  "in  her  scorching  bitter  tears.  She  sobbed 
?e,  ~ery  passionately,  and  her  frame  shook  BO 
aeaiYuleively,  that  it  seemed  as  though  her 
Iteart  would  burst  within  her  body. 

JSe  perceived  the  violence  of  her  emotion, 
m&  he  said,  gently  : 

'*Do  not  grieve,  Conetance:  My  hour  has 
'jaaae,  and  we  must  part  for  ever.  Do  not  re- 
ona-to  the  past  —  " 

84  1  —  I  have  slain  you!"  she  ejaculated, 
mth  bitter  anguish.  O  Bertram,  Bertram  ! 
'aaff»can  I  bare  ray  heart  before  you,  to  show 
you,  tho  agonizing  repentance  with  which  I  re- 
«Bllnmy  madness,  my  wickedness  —  " 

"•-Cease,  Constance,  to  speak  of  it—  to  me," 
&fcinterpo8ed,  feebly,  but  earnestly.  "  I  have 
aaxaed  so  much,  that,  when  you  refer  to  your 


errors,  you  but  make  me  feel  my  own  mora 
deeply.  It  was  I  who  led  you  into  a  secret 
marriage— the  most  fatal  mode  of  blending 
two  hearts  together,  which  was  ever  conceived 
by  a  weak  and  inexperienced  head.  By  urg- 
ing you  to  take  that  step,  I  sowed  the  seed  of 
all  which  has  followed.  I  must  not  throw 
blame  upon  you,  because  I  have  reaped  the 
rank  and  bitter  weeds  which  I  myself  have 
sown.  Let  us  speak  only  of  the  future.  I 
have  something  on  my  mind — which — I — O 
God  of  Heaven !  is  it  that  I  am  delirious,  or 
is  there  a  figure  kneeling  by  your  side— a 
form  I  saw  last  night— a  face  which  hss  haunt- 
ed me  since?  Constance,  is  it  a  reality— or 
only  my  distempered  imagination  ?" 

Constance  twined  her  arm  about  Floret's 
neck,  and  drew  her  closer  to  Bertram ;  but 
she  wept  so  frantically,  that  she  could  not  ar- 
ticulate a  word. 

Bertram  still  kept  his  faint  eyes  fixed  on 
Floret's  face,  and,  gazing  into  her  humid  eyes, 
said: 

"  In  the  name  of  mercy,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  if  you  have  life,  speak  to  me.  Who 
are  you!" 

Floret  gasped  spasmodically;  but  she 
forced  out  the  words : 

"  I  am  your  child — I  am  your  child  I  You 
have  denied  me  ;  but,  indeed—indeed— I  am 
your  own  child  I" 

"Constance!"  he  groaned,  turning  to  hia 
wife;  "as  you  hope  for  mercy  hereafter, 
speak  to  me.  Who  is  that  by  your  side  ?" 

"  Bertram !"  she  half  screamed,  that  she 
might  force  her  words  out.  "  Bertram,  it  i* 
jour  child  and  mine  I  She  was  born  at  Beach- 
borough  Abbey  before  we  parted.  I — I— am 
to  blame ! — I  only  am  to  blame !  O,  mercy — 
mercy— do  not  curse  me,  Bertram— do  not 
curse  me !" 

She  sank  prostrate  upon  the  bedside. 

"Almighty  G©d,  for  this  mercy  I  thank 
Thee !"  ejaculated  Bertram,  with  intense  fer- 
vor ;  "  to  have  lived  over  this  moment  dis- 
arms Fate  of  any  further  power  to  grieve  me  1" 

He  turned  his  face  to  Floret. 

*:  My  poor  child  I"  he  murmured ;  "  my  poor 
girl ;  how  you  have  been  wronged ;  how  you 
must  have  suffered.  O !  if  I  had  but  known 
that  you  were  mine — what  happiness— what 
joy  it  would  have  been  to  me,  to  have  reared 
you,  to  have  loved  you,  to  have  made  you  my 
pride — my  happiness !" 

Constance  wept  in  an  agonized  manner. 
Every  word  was  a  poisoned  dagger  plunged 
into  her  heart. 

Floret,  too,  was  overcome  with  intense  emo- 
tion. Those  unusual  words  of  tenderness ; 
those  tokens  of  recognition ;  those  acknowl- 
edgments of  paternal  love,  overwhelmed  her, 
and  took  away  from  her  all  power  but  that 
ofweeping. 

The  hot  tears,  too,  poured  down  Bertram's 
cheeks ;  and  for  a  minute  or  so  there  was  a 
dead  silence. 

The  Earl  broke  it.  He  said  to  Floret,  ten- 
derly : 


OR,  THE  FATE  OP  THE  POOR  GIRL.: 


"Kiss  me — my  dear  child— too  late  known 
-—too  shortly  beloved  I" 

O,  how  poor  Floret  clung  ronnd  his  neck. 
Nature  exerted  her  supremacy  ;  for,  though 
Floret  had  not  actually,  until  this  moment, 
been  eure  that  the  Earl  was  her  father — she 
felt,  as  she  clung  to  him,  that  he  was  indeed 
BO  now  ;  that  she  could  love  him  with  an  excess 
of  filial  tenderness;  and  that  that  love  was 
created  in  her  breast  at  the  very  moment  he 
was  about  to  be  snatched  from  cer. 

And  then  she  shrank  hastily  back,  as  though 
ahe  had  overstepped  some  limit  which  she 
..should  not  have  passed ;  and  she  looked  tim- 
idly at  her  mother — looked  at  her — only  to 
bring  her  to  her  feet,  and  implore  of  her,  in 
•wild  accents,  to  forgive  the  long  course  of  cru- 
elty which  she  had  practiced  toward  ker. 

What  could  Floret  do,  but  fling  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck,  sob  upon  her  bosom, 
and  entreat  of  her  pot  to  speak  ef  forgiveness, 
for  that  her  recognition  of  her  now  had  oblit- 
erated the  past  from  her  memory. 

The  Earl  turned  his  eyes  to  Constance,  and 
said,  in  almost  unearthly  tones : 

"  I  ieel  that  I  &m  sinking  fast,  and  that  the 
time  is  rapidly  approaching  when  I  shall  cease 
to  be.  Constance,  my  loye- — my  first  love — 
my  only  and  my  lost  love,  when  I  am  gone, 
believe  that  I  only  regarded  you  in  these  last 
moments  as  when  1  met  you — as  young, 
bright,  beautiful  as  she  who  new  stands  by 
your  side — our  child.  Constance,  I  know  that 
you  loved  me ;  and  that,  though  your  mind 
was  estranged  f>  oin  me,  it  returned  back  to  its 
old  affect  ion,  and  would  hare  remained  firm 
and  loyal  to  it  to  the  last —  ' 

"O  Bertram,  Bertram!"  cried  Constance, 
Btill  upon  her  knees,  "  hear  me — believe  me, 
in  the  face  of  the  Supreme  Creator,  who  gazes 
down  upon  us  both  at  this  dread  moment,  that 
I  speak  the  truth  to  you.  I  have  been  true 
to  you,  Bertram — my  husband — true  to  that 
marriage-  vow  which  bound  my  honor  to  yours 
—true  in  thought,  in  deed,  in  look.  Chaste,  I 
swear,  Bertram.  Do  not  die  without  believing 
in  your  heart  and  soul,  that  the  immaculate 
purity,  which  you  purchased  at  the  altar  with 
solemn  vows,  bears,  even  now,  not  a  tinge  or 
taint  of  shame  upon  it." 

"  I  die  happy  1"  he  ejaculated,  with  a  fervor 
which  language  woula  only  inadequately  de- 
scribe. 

" Happy!"  ejaculated  a  hoarse  voice. 
"  Look  upon  my  face  and  repeat  those  words  ?" 

They  all  turned,  and  beheld  Hagar  Lot 
standing  close  behind  them. 

The  Marchioness  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  "Wretch !  monster !  fiend  !"  she  exclaimed, 
excitedly  ;  "  how  dare  you  intrude  into  this 
chamber  of  death?" 

She  raised  her  hand  to  pull  a  bell,  the  han 
die  of  whish  was  near  to  her,  violently  ;  but 
Hagar  caught  her  by  the  wrist,  and  held  her 
firmly. 

Bertram  turned  his  faint  eyes  upon  her,  and 
muttered : 

4SI  have  wrorged  you  deeply — your  pres- 


ence here  rebukes  me.  I  grieve  deeply  fori&fe 
wrocg  I  inflicted  upon  you.  I  pray  you  gfc- 
don  me !" 

Constance  looked  at  both  amazed ;  but  £&® 
recovered  herself  somewhat,  and  flung  off 
hand  of  Hagar,  and,  catching  the  bell-re 
pulled  it  violently. 

At  the  same  moment  Bertram  whispered, 
hurriedly : 

"My  wife— my  child — one  last  embrace!^ 

They  bent,  sobbing,  over  him,  and  CoEsfcasg* 
pressed  her  lips  to  hia.  Floret  took  his  cpHf 
hand,  and  kissed  it,  end  rained  tears  upon  it 

Hagar  Lot  seemingly,  with  a  ouddea  Easi- 
ness, dragged  Floret  back  ;  and  then 
seizing  the  wrist  of  the  Marchioness,  so 
she  shrieked  with  pain,  she  dragged  her 
Bertram's  motionless  form. 

"  The  place  ef  the  Countess  of  Brackleigkie 
here,  side  by  side  with  me!"  she  cried, 
low  and  fierce  tones  ;  "  but  it  is  her  spirit 
whicla  hovers  above  us,  for  she  ia  dead— 
of  a  broken  heart;  slain — slain  by  him 
lies  there.  My  hour  is  near  at  hand,  sst& 
think  you,  woman,  that  you  can  escape." 

She  gripped  the  wrist  of  the  Countees  ag«sa^ 
and  caused  her  such  acute  pain  that  etas 
shrieked  with  agony. 

Then,  as  the  door  opened  hastily,  she  fiuqg 
off  her  hand,  and  glided  out  of  the  epartmesti, 
unnoticed  by  the  several  persona  who  entered! 
excitedly,  believing  that  the  worst  had  hs^p 
pened. 

And  so  it  had. 

The  Earl  was  dead ! 

CHAPTER  LXIL 

"  From  henre  let  proud  resisting  mortals  know 
The  arm  parental  and  indulgent  blow. 
To  Heaven's  corrective  rod  submissive  bend  c 
Adore  its  wisdom,  on  its  power  depend  ; 
Whilst  rulicg  justice  guides  eternal  sway, 
Let  Nature  tremble,  and  let  man  obey.'1 

—THE  EARL  OP  ESSEZ» 

After  a  long  fit  of  insensibility,  Constarjc% 
when  restored  to  life,  displayed  remarkafofe 
calmness  and  firmness  of  manner.  She  was 
very  ghastly  pale,  weak  in  voice,  feeble  ia. 
movement,  but  singularly  self-possessed  «a€ 
emotionless. 

She  directed,  as  soon  as  the  coffin,  had  b<xa 
constructed  and  the  Earl  placed  in  it,  that  h* 
should  be  convey  ed  to  Brackleigh  maE&ioa, 
She  sent  for  the  father  of  the  late  Countess,, 
who  was  there  grieving  over  the  sad  fate  «£ 
his  daughter,  and  she  was  alone  in  conversa- 
tion witn  him  an  hour  or  more. 

The  result  of  that  conversation  was,  that  &bt 
Earl  and  Countess  were  buried  in  one  grav*. 

She  herself  directed,  with  the  same  remark 
able  control  of  ail  emotion,  and  superintend*! 
the  funeral  obsequies  of  the  Marquis  of 
oh  ester. 

The  duel  had  been  preserved  as  a 
and  he  was  buried  wiih  all  the  pomp  and 
geantry  he  could  have  wished  had  he 
living. 

Lord  Nihilalbum    &rould  have  been. 
mourner,  but  he  was  laid  up  with  a 


228 


HAGAR  LOT  ; 


wound,  which  he  had  receded  in  a  duel  with 
the  Marquis  of  Broadlands.  The  bullet  of  the 
latter  had  shattered  the  forearm  which  direct- 
ed his  own  pistol.  He  had  been  carried, 
strangely  enough  by  hid  own  deeire,  to  the 
mansion  of  the  late  Marquis  of  Westchester, 
which,  he  had  for  yeara  looked  upon  as  a  eec- 
ond  home,  and  he  was  there  chiefly  attended 
by  Fane,  who  had  returned  with  the  Marchion- 
ess for  a  short  time  to  Westehester  House,  to 
superintend  the  removal  of  everything  which 
belonged  to  her,  and  to  make  those  final  ar- 
rangements which  should  terminate  her  con- 
nection wLh  that  house  for  ever. 

The  Marquis,  the  Earl,  and  his  Countess 
were  buried,  rather  by  accident  than  by  de- 
sign, on  the  same  day,  but  far  apart ;  and  af- 
ter that  day  the  Marchioness  addressed  her- 
self to  Lady  Susan  Vaughan,  and  made  Floret 
her  medium  of  communication. 

Astbe  object  was  the  restoration  of  ICa  to 
her  legi.imate  position,  it  may  be  imagined 
with  what  pleasure,  sad  r.a  she  was,  Floret  un- 
dertook her  task. 

It,  may  be  imagined,  also,  with  what  felicity 
Ida  found  herself  restored  to  her  mother,  who 
had  recovered  her  senses  completely,  and  who 
coveted  her  now  grand  position  only  for  the 
sake  of  her  daughter. 

It  mw  be  likewise  imagined  that  the  Hon. 
Hyde  Vaughan  contemplated  the  change  in 
Ida's  condition  with  gratification,  which  was 
heightened— we  dare  not  say  how  much — by 
the  naive  confession  of  Ida  to  him,  that  she 
was  delighted  with  her  changed  position,  be- 
cause ifc  would  enable  her  to  meet  him,  talk  to 
him,  think  of  him  as  her  equal,  not  as  an 
Apoilo,  who  was  a  deity  far  above  her 
reach. 

"VTiih  the  installation  of  the  Marchioness  of 
"VVestchester,  nee  Ada  Vian,  and  her  daughter, 
in  her  true  position,  Constance  devoted  her- 
self to  the  placing  Floret— no  more,  but  Con- 
stance now— in  htr  proper  position. 

Ficret,  in  some  long  conversation  which 
had  taken  place  between  them,  frankly  ac- 
quainted her  with  all  that  had  taken  place  be- 
tween her  end  Victor,  Marquis  of  Broadlands. 
Constance  instantly  summoned  him  to  meet 
herself  and  Floret,  and  she  laid  before  him, 
without  reserve,  the  history  of  her  own  mar- 
riage with  the  Viscount  Bertram  and  of  Floret's 
birsh,  together  with  her  subsequent  desertion 
of  her.  (She  furnished  him,  also,  with  ail  the 
necessary  evidence  which  would  support  her 
statements  ;  but  he  returned  them  to  her,  and 
told  her  that  he  should  still  have  felt  honored 
by  the  hand  of  Floret,  if  she  had  remained 
whit  be  had  found  her — a  POOR  GIRL. 

In  hia  bands,  however,  the  Marchioness  in- 
sisted on  depositing   all  the  necessary  docu 
•    ments,  and  to  him  and  to  the  Lady  Henrietta 
Plantagenet  she  devolved  the  task  of  placing 
Floret's  true  position  before  the  world. 

She  eeemed  all  thia  time  to  be  the  victim  of 
an  a  tack  of  atrophy.  She  grew  feebler, 
weaker,  thinner,  every  day.  Stiii  she  exerted  { 


herself  resolutely  to  finish  and  complete  all  th<J 
tasks  she  had  set  herself  to  perform. 

And  she  did  them  all. 

Then  she  was  missed  from  Plantagenet 
Honse. 

Search  was  made  in  vain  for  her  in  every 
direction. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  the  bodies  of  two 
women  were  discovered  by  the  Marquis  of 
Broadlands,  during  an  unflagging  search  for 
Constance,  both  dead,  at  the  foot  of  the  grave 
of  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Brackleigh. 

One  was  fair,  aristocratic  in  appearance  and 
dress,  but  thin,  and  wasted  to  a  shadow. 

The  other  was  a  gipsy. 

The  weather  had  been  wild  and  stormy  the 
whole  week.  The  drenched  garments  of  both 
women  told  that  they  had  been  exposed  to  the 
fury  of  the  tempests  from  their  commence- 
ment. 

To  the  faded  scirlet  cloak  of  the  gipsy  was 
appended  a  paper,  upon  which  was  written 
some  words  which,  from  the  ink  having  been 
saturated  with  water,  were  scarcely  deciphera- 
ble ;  they  were,  however,  made  out,  and  ran 
as  follows  : 

"  I  have  fallen  by  my  own  band.  I  die  at  the  foet  cf 
the  grave  of  kirn  whom  I  loved,  and  who  rained  and 
destroyed  me.  By  my  side  lies  the  woman,  dead,  who 
stole  h's  heart  from  me.  Her  life  WAS  forfeit  t->  me. 
I  took  it  with  niy  own  fatal  grip.  She  came  here  to 
die.  I  watched  her,  and  did  not  disturb  her  Iwt  mo- 
ments. She  died  with  a  blessing  for  him  on  her  lips  : 
[  coupled  with  ifc  a  curse.  Myepiritia  now  following 
hera,  to  appear  at  the  bar  of  Eternal  Justice.** 

An  ancnjmous  communication  directed 
the  Marquis  of  Broadlands  to  the  spot  where 
he  discovered  them.  He  kept  the  paper,  had 
the  body  of  Constance  conveyed  to  her  home, 
and  the  body  of  Hagar  Lot  he  surrendered  to 
some  gipsies,  who  came  forward  and  claimed 
it,  and  who  interred  it  with  their  own  rite?  and 
ceremonies. 

Constance,  was  buried  privately,  and  f  tren- 
uous  efforts  were  made  to  avoid  everything 
which  would  set  the  merciless  tongues  of  so- 
ciety in  motion  ;  and  the  efforts  succeeded,  for 
the  sad  events,  strange  as  they  were,  did  not 
even  become  a  nine- days'  wonder. 

#***•• 

Twelve  months  had  passed  away,  and  let  us 
examine  what  then  was  the  situation.  We 
know  the  fates  of  the  Marquis  of  Westohester, 
of  Constance  and  Bertram,  of  the  Countess  of 
Brackleigh,  and  of  Hagar  Lot.  Let  us  see 
bow  the  other  folks  progressed  during  thai 
period. 

First  of  all,  let  us  revert  to  Liper  Leper. 

After  the  death  of  Hagar  Lot,  he  presented 
himself  before  Floret  in  the  plain  drees  of  a 
gentleman.  She  scarcely  knew  him  in  this 
b,  yet  a  glance  at  his  melancholy  eyes  and 
pensive  face  enabled  her  to  recognize  him. 

She  was  in  deep  mourning,  still  in  grief  at 
the  loss  of  her  new-found  peients,  but  her 
countenance  was  hopeful,  and  it  was  plain  to 
iiim  that  she  was  looking  forward  to  a  happy 
future. 

His  face,  on  the  contrary,  wore  a  hopelesj 
expression. 


OR,  THE  FATE  OF  THE  POOR  GIRL. 


229 


"  I  appear  before  you,  White  Rose,"  he  said, 
u  to  take  my  farewell  of  you  forever ! ' 

"  Do  not  say  BO,  Liper,"  she  responded,  a 
tear  springing  into  her  eye. 

"  Nay,"  he  said  sadly,  "  I  have  no  tie  to 
bind  me  longer  here."  " 

"  Not  one— not  one — 0,  Liper !  not  one  ?" 
she  asked,  earnestly. 

"  Not  one,"  he  replied,  slowly  shaking  his 
head. 

"  You  are  cruel,"  she  returned,  with  emotion. 
"  Liper,  you  were  to  me  a  brother,  a  savior, 
more  than  a  friend  ;  but  for  you,  in  my  mis- 
ery, what  could  I  have  done  ?  You  shielded 
me  from  evil,  protected  me  from  harm,  conn- 
aeled  me  when  I  was  bewildered,  turned  me 
from  willfulness  when  I  should  have  erred, 
soothed  me  when  my  overcharged  heart  was 
bursting,  supported,  sustained,  enabled  me  to 
appear  in  the  position  to  which  I  have  arrived 
without  a  blusn  on  my  cheek,  without  a  mem- 
ory which  rankles  in  my  brain.  Liper,  do  you 
thick  I  have  a  short-lived  memory  ?  Do  you 
think  I  have  no  heart — no  feeling  ?  Do  you 
think  I  do  not  regard  you  as  one  of  the  dear- 
est ties  which  bind  me  to  life  ?  O  Liper,  you 
wrong  my  nature,  you  pain  me  cruelly,  you 
wound  me  greatly — indeed,  you  do  I"  ^ 

He  bit  his  lip,  and  compressed  his  hands 
together,  as  she  turned  irom  him.  Then, 
when  able  to  command  his  voice,  he  said,  with 
a  slight  quiver  in  its  tone  : 

"  White  Rose — my  own  pure,  fair  White 
Rose— do  not  misconceive  me.  I  know  your 
nature — no  living,  breathing,  creature  knows 
it  better.  I  worship  it,  for  it  ia  high  and  noble, 
and  pure — all  that  can  make  woman  resemble, 
not  alone  an  angel,  but'  a  goddess.  I  rever- 
ence it,  too,  for  it  bears  a  true  women's  pure, 
loving,  gentle  heart.  Think  you,  White  Rose, 
knowing  this,  that  I  could  believe  you  to  be 
unmindful  of  the  days  we  have  passed  togeth- 
er, of  the  scenes  we  have  paee ed  through,  of 
the  trifling  services  which  I  have  been  enabled 
to  render  you  ?  No,  it  is  your  generous  grati- 
tude which  not  alone  amply  repays  me,  but 
serves  as  a  tie  to  bind  me  to  life.  O  flower 
of  young  and  sweet  womanly  sympathy!  I 
appreciate  your  tenderness  and  consideration 
to  me  as  warmly  and  as  earnestly  as  if  it  were 
dictated  by  the  same  love  which  was  borne  to 
me  in  my  childhood  by  my  sister,  who  is  in 
the  epirit-land.  Like,  however,  that  shining 
love,  I  can  from  a  distance  offer  up  to  it  my 
adoration— from  a  distance.  White  Rose,  1 
shall  regard  your  gentle  gratitude,  your  gen- 
erous wishes,  and  your  to  me  most  dear  es- 
teem, as  the  lode-star  which  will  conduct  me 
through  the  path  of  honor  to  the  goal  I  hope 
to  attain.  Most  deeply,  most  gratefully,  do  I 
accept  your  kind  sympathy,  flower  of  my 
soul !  so  dearly  that  it  wins  from  me  the  last 
regret  I  should  have  in  leaving  this  land,  for 
now  I  know  that  I  bear  with  me  your  sisterly 
affection.  My  love  lies  buried  in  a  gipsy's 
grave  ;  but  my  remembrance  of  you,  O  fair 
and  tender  lily  I  will  still  make  the  world  in 
which  I  go  to  offer  my  life  in  the  cause  of  lib- 


erty, a  paradise ;  the  laurels  I  may  gain,  green, 
shining,  and  glorious,  because  your  gentle 
thoughts  will  be  with  me — your  sweet  praise 
be  bestowed  upon  them.  Farewell  1  O  white 
and  spotless  flower  of  your  race !  and  if  the 
prayers  of  one  so  humble  in  the  eyes  of 
Heaven  as  myself,  can  influence  favorably 
your  future,  so  as  to  insure  it  being  one  of  un- 
alloyed happiness,  be  assured  of  those  of  him 
known  only  to  you  aa  Liper  Leper  I" 

He  bent  his  knee  to  her,  pressed  his  lips  to 
her  hand,  and,  before  her  trembling  voice 
could  make  itself  heard,  he  disappeared. 

She  felt  when  he  had  departed,  as  though 
she  had  lost  a  dear  and  valued  friend  by  death, 
and  she  did  not  that  day  quit  her  room 
again. 

Of  Fanny  Shelley,  it  may  be  said  that  she 
was  fully  restored  to  her  eenEes.  After  she 
had  got  over  the  death  of  the  Marchioness, 
who  had  provided  for  her  amply,  she  lived 
very  h&ppily,  and  is  living  very  happily  with 
Stephen  Vere. 

Certainly,  Mrs.  Henry  Vere  is  quite  as  hap- 
py as  Fanny,  and  perhaps  a  little  more  so  ; 
because  she  has  got  a  sturdy  young  Harry  or 
two,  and  because  our  friend,  Bob — we  can't 
tell  you  his  other  name,  or  else  you  wauld 
drop  in  at  his  nice  house  at  Fimlico,  taste  his 
half-and-half,  and  look  admiringly  at  his  bet- 
ter-half— we  say,  and  because  Bob  has  mar- 
ried Susan's  tall  sister,  and  is  ex-tremely  jolly 
— at  least,  if  you  aek  Lim,  whether  be  ia  or 
not,  he  is  sure*  to  answer  you,  '•  I  thick  so  !" 

By  the  way,  Susan's  sister  "Emly"  told 
Mrs.  Spencer,  who  is  now  housekeeper  to  tha 
Marquis  of  Broadlands,  in  a  great  grand  house 
in  Eaton  square,  that  the  double  harness  fold 
was  by  no  means  a  too  strong  manifestation  oi 
ecstasy,  and  that  she  had  come  to  think  that  it 
was  a  very  nice  sort  of  institution. 

Of  Daddy  Windy  it  will,  perhaps,  suffice  to 
say,  that  he  still  lives  in  the  same  ambrosical 
quarter,  Bermondsey  ;  etill  enjoys  his  evening 
pipe  and  his  warm  "Jamaiker".  He  was 
grieved  at  the  loss  of  Floret,  but  after  all  h« 
bore  her  departure  stoically,  for  he  siid  to 
himself,  when  he  found  that  she  had  taken 
flight : 

"  Pard'ner,  she's  a  little  too  old  in  the  tooth 
for  us.  Ve  vants  another  younaf  primrose  as 
'11  sell  wilets,  and  pull  in  the  suv'rins  as  if  they 
wus  candy  drops — that's  what  we  want,  pard'- 
ner,  that's  what  we  want,  though  I'm  most 
afeard  ve  shan't  lay'  hold  on  another  Vite 
Roee!" 

We  are  unable  to  give  a  favorable  account 
of  Nat  Ferret.  His  exertions  to  get  a  "  stun- 
nin'  pub"  and  the  fair  party  were  not  crowned 
with  success. 

The  fair  party,  that  is  Fane,  unhappily  list- 
ened to  the  pereuaeions  of  Lord  Nihilalbum, 
and  went  off  with  him.  Nat  met  her  magnifi- 
cently dressed,  riding  in  a  brougham,  and  en- 
deavored to  apeak  to  her,  but  she  ordered  her 
coachman  to  horsewhip  him,  which  he  did. 

Nat  took  to  dricking,  squandered  away  the 
money  he  had  saved,  and  is  now  one  of  the 


230 


HAGAR  LOT : 


disreputable  partiee  who  prowl  about  race 
courses,  and  who  are  significantly  termec 
"Welohers1'. 
r  Lord  Nihilalbum  never  got  over  the  wounc 
he  received  from  the  pistol-bullet  of  Lord 
Victor.  His  horse  one  day  threw  him,  he 
broke  his  arm  in  the  place  where  it  had  been 
previously  splintered,  and  so  badly  that  he 
was  compelled  to  have  it  amputated.  He  de- 
layed it  through  want  of  courage  so  long  that 
it  mortified  and  carried  him  o  IF.  He  left  the 
frail  Fane  unprovided  for,  and  she  is  now  in 
misery  lamenting  that  she  is  not  a  virtuous 
publican's  wife. 

'  Susan  Vere,  after  her  return  from  Canada, 
received  a  communication  from  Hatty  Marr, 
full  of  inquiiies  and  full  of  information.  It 
informed  her  that  Hatty  had  gone  out  to  New 
Zealand,  and  had  there  married  a  Judge — a 
good  judge  he  was,  too,  to  secure  so  nice  a 
girl  as  Hatty. 

And  now,  reaching  up  to  the  end  of  the 
year,  we  are  called  upon  to  record  the  mar- 
riage of  Hyde  Vaughan  and  Ida,  with  every 
prospect  of  fature  felicity  to  both.  And  not 
only  that,  but  the  wedding  also  of  Lady  Adela 
Trevor,  who  was  also  united  io  one  who  loved 
her  for  herself,  and  whom  she  loved  for  every 
qualification  which  could  possibly  endear  him 
to  the  heart  of  a  woman. 
.  And  having  provided  thus  for  all,  we  arrive, 
in  conclusion,  at  the  wedding  of  Floret  and 
Lord  Victor — we  use  the  two  names  by  which 
they  are  best  known  to  the  reader. 
i  The  wedding  was  a  brilliant  one,  the  com- 
pany numerous  and  distinguished,  the  appear- 
ance of  Floret  dazzling,  the  homage  she  re- 
ceived such  aa  altnost  to  turn  her 'brain,  and 
the  congratulations  showered  rapon  her  were  of 
a  kind  to  make  her  proud  indeed. 
I  Yet  she  felt  happier  still  when,  one  week 
afterward,  seated  alone  with  Lord  Victor  upon 
a  grassy  knoll,  weaving  a  bouquet  from  flow- 
ers which  he  had  gathered  from  the  vicinity  of 
a  clear  pool  near  to  them,  ehe  placed  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said,  pointing  to 
it :  "It  WM  there,  Victor,  you  firat  saw  me, 


Bhoeles*,  penniless.    Now  I  am  your  wife.    I': 
was  then  happy  to  attract  your  notice,  happy 
that  you  received  my  poor  offering  of  wild 
flowers—" 

He  placed  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  from  { 
beneath  his  vest,  attached  to  a  gold  chain,  h« 
broaght  out  a  flat  gold  locket  of  some  size. 

"  Behold  the  flowers!"  he  exclaimed,  and  be 
kissed  them. 

She  placed  her  lips  to  his  cheek. 

"I  little  thought  then,"  she  said,  with 
tears  in  her  eye*,  "  to  be  what  I  am,  and  as  I 
am  now.  I  am  so— so  happy." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darling  wife !"  he  exclaim- 
ed, folding  hi3  aims  about  her.  •«  I  love  you 
truthfully,  and  I  hope,  Floret,  like  a  true  man 
— and  holding  you  in  my  arms  thue,  loving 
you  devotedly  as  I  do—believing  that  as  you 
are  a  priceless  treasure  to  me,  so  I  am  to  you 
—let  me  express  my  fervent  hope  that  we  may 
never  cease  to  love  each  other  as  dearly  as  we 
do  now  while  we  are  spared  to  each  other ;  in 
that  case,  dearest,  as  you  no  longer  are,  so  you 
can  no  longer  be  a  PoorGirll" 

"  And,  Victor,  dearest,"  she  rejoined,  fond- 
ly, "  let  us  in  remembrance  of  my  etracge  his- 
tory, take  upon  ou/selves  the  grateful  duty, 
whenever  and  wherever  we  can  perform  it,  of 
making  our  way  amorg  the  toilers,  the  work- 
ers, the  needle-slaves— tlie  Poor  Girls  :  those 
who  need  help  and  cannot  help  themselves  ; 
those  whom  we,  out  of  our  ample  store,  can 
help,  and  whose  heavy  burdens  we  can  tighten 
with  simple  monetary  assistance,  whose  cares 
we  can  alleviate,  whose  griefs  we  can  assuage, 
whose  miseries  we  can  remove.  There  are 
many  Florets  in  the  world,  dear,  dear  Victor 
— many  who  need  aid  more  grievouely,  more  j 
desperately  than  I  did  ;  let  us  seek  them  out, 
and  remember,  dearest,  while  we  mingle  with 
them,  how  sorely  I  needed  a  friend,  so  that  we 
may  be  to  them  friends  and  helpers—" 

44  And  make  them  blees  the  circumstances," 
he  whispered,  as,  kissing  her  fondly,  he  press- 
ed her  to  his  heart,  "  that,  like  themselves, 
you,  you,  my  own  love,  were  on«e  a  Poo» 
Gun.1' 


(P2001S10) 


Y£  1027 1 8 


